d^526. 



aO OexLtt 




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^ TRI-WEEKLY PUBLlCATlOlf OF THE BEST CURRHMt & STAKDJ\RD LlTEK?VTURE 




Vol, 10. No. 5-.'6. Fel.. 15, I5i5. Annual Subscriptiou, $30.00. 



CAMPBELL'S 



POEMS 



Entered at the Post Office, X. Y., as second-class matter 
Copyright, 1884, by Johx W. Loyell Co. 



Ni:\V'YORK 



^JOHN'W'LOYELL' GOnPANY + 

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it CLOTH BlUDIHGfor this volume can be obtained from any booi(seilv or newsdealer, price 15cts. 



Latest Issues of Loveirs Library, 



273 Sketches by Boz 20 

274 A Christmas OaroL, etc. . 15 

275 lone Stewart 20 

276 Harold. 2 Parts, each.... 15 

277 Dora Thome 20 

278 Maid of Athens 20 

279 Conquest of Spain 10 

280 FitzOoodle Papers, etc... 10 

281 Bracebridge Hall 20 

28a Qncommercial Traveller. 20 
233 Roundabout Papers 20 

284 Rossmoyne 20 

285 A Legend of the Rhine. . 10 

286 Oox's Dairy, etc 10 

287 Beyond Pardon 20 

"" Somebody's Luggage, etc 10 



289 Qodolphin 

290 Salmagundi , 

291 Famous Funny Fellows. , 

292 Irish Sketches, etc 

293 The Battle of Life, etc. . , 

294 Pilgrims of the Rhine... 

295 Random Shots , 

290 Men's Wives 



10 
15 
20 
10 

297 Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

298 Reprinted Pieces 20 

299 Astoria 20 

300 Novels by Enunent Hands 10 

301 Companioni of Columbus 20 

302 No Thoroughfare 10 

303 Character Sketches, etc. . 10 

304 Christmas Books 20 

305 A Tour on the Prairies. . 10 

306 Ballads 15 

307 Yellowplush Papers 10 

308 Life of Mahomet, Part 1. 15 
Life of Mahomet, Pt. II. 15 

809 Sketches and Travels in 
London 10 

310 Ohver Goldsmith, Irving 20 

311 Captain Bonneville 20 

312 Golden Girls 20 

318 English Humorists 15 

314 Moorish Chronicles 10 

315 Winifred Power 20 

316 Great Hoggarty Diamond 10 

317 Pausanias lt> 

318 The New Abelard 20 

319 A Real Queen 20 

320 The Rose and the Ring. . 20 

321 Wolferts Roost ; and Mis- 

cellanies, by Irving.... 10 

322 Mark Seaworth 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones 20 

324 Round the World 20 

325 Elbow Room 20 

326 The Wizard's Son 25 

327 Harry Lorrequer 20 

328 How it All Came Round. 20 

329 Dante Rosetti's Poems.. 

330 The Canon's Ward 

331 Lucile, by O. Meredith. 
382 Every Day Cook Book 



20 
20 
20 
20 
833 Lays of Ancieiit Rome.. 20 

334 Life of Burns 20 

335 The Young Foresters.... 20 

336 John Bull and His Island 20 

337 Salt Water, by Kmgston. 20 

338 The Midshipman 20 

339 Proctor's Poms. ., 20 

340 Clayton Rangers 20 

341 Schiller's Poems 20 

842 Goethe's Faust 20 

343 Goethe's Poems 20 

344 Life of Thackeray 10 

345 Dante's Vision of Hell, 

Purgatory and Paradise 20 

346 An Interesting Case 20 

347 Life of Byron, Nichol.... 10 

348 Life of Bimyan 10 

349 Valerie's Fate 10 

a50 Grandfather Lickshingle 20 
351 Lays of the Scottish Ca- 
valiers 20 



352 Willis'Poems 20 

353 Tales of the French Re- 

volution c. 15 

854 Loom and Lueger........ 20 

855 More Leaves from a Life 

in the Highlands 15 

356 Hygiene of the Bram.... 25 

357 Berlceley the Banker 20 

358 Homes Abroad 15 

359 Scott'sLady of theLake, 

with notes 20 

360 Modern Christianity a 

Civilized Heathenism. . 15 

361 Life of Shelley 10 

362 Goldsmith's Plays ; and 

Poems 20 

363 For Each and for All. ... 15 

364 Life of Scott 10 

365 The Pathfinder 20 

366 The Sergeant's Legacy. . 20 

367 An Old Man's Love 15 

363 Old Lady Mary 10 

369 Life of flume 10 

370 Twice-Told Tales 20 

871 The Story of Chinese 

♦' Gordon, A. E. Hake. . . 20 

372 Hill and Valley 15 

373 Essays, by Emerson 20 

374 Essays, by George Ehot. . 20 

375 Science at Home 20 

376 Grandfather's Chau: 20 

377 Life of Defoe 10 

878 Homeward Bound 20 

379 The Charmed Sea 15 

380 Life of Locke 10 

381 A Fair Device... 20 

382 Thaddensof Warsaw.... 20 

383 Life of Gibbon 10 

354 Dorothy Forster 20 

385 Swiss Family Robinson. . 20 

386 Childhood of the World. . 10 

387 Princess Napraxine 25 

888 Life m the Wilds 15 

389 Paradise Lost 20 

390 The Land Question 10 

391 Homer's Odyssey 20 

392 Life of Milton 10 

893 Social Problems 20 

394 The Giant's Robe 20 

395 Sowers not Reapers 15 

396 Homer's Iliad 80 

397 Arabian Nights' Enter- 
tainments 25 

Life of Pope 10 

John Holdsworth 20 

400 Glen of the Echoes 15 

401 Life of Johnson 10 

402 How he Reached the 
White House 25 

40S Poems, by E. A. Poe 20 

404 Life of Southey 10 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

406 Pole on Whist 15 

407 Life of Burke 10 

408 The Brier field Tragedy.. 20 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance 25 

410 Life of Wordsworth 10 

411 Children of the Abbey. . . 80 

412 Poems, by Swinburne.... 20 

413 Ltfeof Chaucer 10 

414 Over the Summer Sea... 20 

415 A Perilous Secret 20 

416 LallaRookh, by Moore.. 20 

417 Don Quixote 30 

418 " I Say No," by CoUms. . 20 

419 Andersen's Fairy Tales. . 20 

420 A Broken Wedding-Rmg 20 

421 Aurora Leigh 20 

422 Cavendish Card Essays. . 15 

423 Repented at Leisure 20 

424 Lite of Cowper, Smith. . . 10 

425 Belf-Help, by Smiles 25 

4'Hi Narrative of A. Gordon _ 



fjrm. 



427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

429 Called Back, by Conway. 15 

430 Bums' Poems 20 

431 Life of Spenser 10 

432 The Gold Bug, by Poe.. . 15 

433 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

435 Miss Tommy, by Mulock. 15 

436 The Light of Asia 20 

437 Tales of Two Idle Ap- 

prentices 15 

438 The Assignation & Other 

Tales, by E. A. Poe.... 15 

439 Noctes Ambrosianse 30 

440 History of the Mormons. 15 

441 Home as Found 20 

442 Taine's English Litera- 

ture 40 

443 Bryant's Poems 20 

444 An Ishmaelite 20 

445 The Rival Doctors, by 

Lapointe 20 

446 Tennyson's Poems 40 

447 The Murder in the Rue 

Morgue and Other Tales 15 

448 Life of Fredrika Bremer. 20 
419 Quisisana 20 

450 Whittier's Poems 20 

451 Doris, by The Duchess. . 20 

452 Mystic London 20 

453 Black Poodle and Other 

% Tales, by F. Anstey..,. 20 

454 The Golden Dog 40 

455 Pearls of the Faith 15 

456 Judith Shakespeare 20 

457 Pope's Poems 30 

458 Sunshine and Roses 20 

459 John Bull and His Daugh- 

ters, by Max O^ReU .... 20 

460 Galaski, by Bayne 20 

461 Socialism 10 

462 Dark Days 15 

463 Deer slayer, by Cooper... 30 

464 Two years before the 

Mast, by R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

465 Earl's Atonement 20 

466 Underthe Will, byHay,. 10 

467 Prairie, by Cooper 20 

463 The Count of Talavera. . 2 > 

469 Chase, by Lermina 20 

470 Vie, by A. Benrimo 15 

471 Pioneer, by Cooper 23 

472 Indian Song of Songs.... 10 

473 Christmas Stories 20 

474 A Woman's Temptation. 20 

475 Sheep in Wolfs Clothing. 20 

476 Love Works Wonders.... 20 

477 A Week in Killarney 10 

478 Tartarinof Tarascon.... 20 

479 Mrs. Browning's Poems. 35 

480 Ahce's Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking- 

Glass, by Lewis Carroll 20 

482 Longfellow's Poems 20 

483 The Child Hunters. 15 

484 The Two Admirals 20 

485 My Roses, by French ... 20 

486 History of the French 

Revolution. Vol. I.., . 2;} 

486 History of the FrencA ^ 

Revolution. Vol. II...<:;> 

487 Moore's Poems 40 

488 Water Witch ^ 

489 Bride of Lammermoor... 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

491 Red Rover 20 

492 Castle Dangerous la 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

494 Past and Present 20 , 

4S5 Surgeon's Daughter 10') 

496 Woman's Trials ^0; j ^ 

497 Sesame and Lilies ....... i'' - ' 

498 Dryden's Poema oOi 



THE 



COMPLETE 



POETICAL WORKS 



THOMAS CAMPBELL. 



WITH 



A MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE. 



NEW YORK: V-. ' 

JOHN W. LOVELL GOMPANl, 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street. 






TROW 3 



I 



^^ 



s7 



THE PLEASURES OF HOPE 



PART 



At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the skyt 
Why do those cMs of shadowy tint appear 
\ More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
rhus, with delight, we linger to survey 
The promised joys of life's unmeasiured way ; 
Thus, from afar, each dim- discovered scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath 
And every form, that Fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows diviaely there. 



What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 

To pierce the shades of dim futurity ? 

Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly p«weS( 

The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour ? 

Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man-— 

Her dim horizon boimded to a span ; 

Or, if she hold an image to the view, 

Tis Nature pictured too severely true. 



§g C A M P B E L L 3 P O E M 9 

With thee, sweet Hope ! resides the heavenly ligikt» 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight : 
Thine is the charm of life's bewilclered way, 
That calls each slumbering passion into plJ*jr 
Waked - / iiiy touch, I see the sister batd, 
On tiptoe, watching, start at thy command, 
And fiy where'er thy mandate bids them stew^ 
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career. 



Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say, 

When ]SIan and Nature mourned their first decay j 

When every form of death, and every wo, 

Shot from malig-nant stars to earth below ; 

WThien Murder bared her arm, and rampjmt War 

Yoked the red dragons of her iron car ; 

When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain. 

Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again ; 

All, all forsook the friendless, guilty niind, — 

Sut Hope, the charmer, lingered still behind. 

Thus, vfliile Elijah's biu-ning wheels prepare 
From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of aiy, 
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, 
Dropped on the world — a sacred gift to man. 

Auspicious Hope ! in thy sweet garden grow 
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every wo ; 
Won by their sweets, in Natm-c's languid hour, 
Tlie way-worn pilgrhii seeks thy siimmer bower; 
ITiere, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, 
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! 
WTiat viewless forms th' ^olian organ play, 
And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought awa^ 

Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore 
Ewrth'a loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest showk 



CAMPBEI, l'9 poems. * 

liO ' to the -sviiitry winds the pilot yields 

His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields ; 

Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, 

Where Andes, giant of the western star, 

With meteor-standard to the winds tuifurled, 

Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world 

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles 
On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles: 
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 
From wastes that slumber in ete'rnal snow ; 
And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, 
The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore. 

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! 
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shattered bark delajj 
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, 
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep : 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole. 
Her visions warm the watchman's ^ ensive soul } 
His native hills that rise in happier climes, 
The grot that heard his song of other times, 
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail. 
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossomed vale, 
Rush on his thought ; he sweeps before the wind. 
Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind ; 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face. 
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace ; 
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear ! 
And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear ! 
While, long neglected, but at length caressed, 
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest. 
Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) 
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. 
4 



8 Campbell's poems 

Fiiend of the brave ! in peril's darkest hour, 
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power; 
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, 
On stormy floods, and carnage-covered fields, 
When front to front the bannered hosts combine^ 
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line. 
When aU is still on Death's devoted soil, 
The march- worn soldier mingles for the toil ! 
As rings his ghttering tube, he lifts on high 
The daimtless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, 
Hails in his heart the triumi)h yet to come. 
And hears thy stormy music in the drum ! 

And such thy strength-mspiring aid that bore 
The hardy Byron to his native shore — 
In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep 
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 
'Twas his to mourn Misfortime's riidest shock, 
Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock^ 
To wake each joyless mom and search again 
The famished haunts of solitary men ; 
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm. 
Know not a trace of Nature but the form ; 
Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, 
Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued. 
Pierced the deej) woods, and hailing from afar 
The moon's pale planet and the northeni star, 
Paused at each dreary cry, unheard before. 
Hyaenas h\ the wild, and mermaids on the shoJ6| 
Till, led by thee o'er many a chff sublime. 
He found a warmer world, a milder clime, 
A home to rest, a shelter to defend. 
Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend ! 

Congenial Hope ! thy • passion-lcindling power, 

How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled koQ 



CAMPBF. Ll's POFMS. 3»J 

On yon proud height, vrith. Genius hand in hand, 
I see the;) light, and wave thy golden wand. 

" Go, child of Heaven ! (thy -wTnged words proclaim) 
"Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame I 
Lo ! Newton, priest of natui-e, shines afar, 
Scans the wide world, and numbers every star I 
Wilt thou, \^T.th him, mysterious rites apply, 
And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye? 
Yes, thou shalt mark, "vvith magic art profound. 
The speed of hght, the cii-cHng march of sound; 
V/'ith Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery ^ing, 
Or ^ield the lyre of Heaven another string. 

"The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bowers, 
His \\dnged insects, and his rosy flowers ; 
Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train, 
With sounding horn, and counts them on the plain - 
So once, at Heaven's command, the wanderers cama 
To Eden's shade, and heard their various name. 

"Far from the world, in yon sequestered clime. 
Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more sui)lime ; 
Calm as the fields of Heaven, his sapient eye 
The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high, 
Admiring Plato, on liis sj)otless page 
Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage : 
* Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span 
The .fire of God, th* inimortal soul of man ? ' 

" Turn, cliild of Heaven, thy rapture-lightened eye 
To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh : 
Hark ! from biiglit spires that gild the Delphian height 
From streams that wander in eternal Hght, 
Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell 
The min gli n g tones of horn, and harp, and shell; 



40 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Deep froiTi his vaults the Ijoxian murmurs flow, 
A.nd Pythia's awful organ peals below. 

" Beloved of Heaven ! the smiling Muse shall shed 
Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head ; 
Shall swell thy heart to rapture ujicuufmed, 
And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. 
I see thee roam her guardian power beneath, 
And talk -with spirits on the midnight heath ; 
Inqiiire of guilty wanderers whence they came, 
And ask each blood-stained form his eartldy name; 
Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, 
And read the trembling world the tales of hell. 

"When Venus, throned in clouds of rosy hue, 
Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew, 
And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ, 
Sacred to love, and walks of tender joy; 
A milder mood the goddess shall recall, 
And soft as dew thy tones of music fall ; 
WHiile Beauty's deeply-pictured smiles impart 
A pang more dear tlian pleasure to the heart — 
Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain. 
And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain. 

•*0r -wilt thoii Orphean hj-mns more sacred deem. 
And steep thy song in Mercy's meUow stream; 
To i)ensive drops the radiant eye beguile — 
For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile; — 
On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief. 
And teach unpassioned souls the joy of grief? 

" Ves ; to thy tongue shall seraph words be given, 
And power on earth to plead the cause of Heaven i 
The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone. 
That never mused on sorrow but its own, 



Campbell's poems. 41 

(Jnlocks a generous store at thy command, 
Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's haud. 
The living lumber of his kmdxed earth, 
Charmed into soul, receives a second birth, 
Feels thy dread power another heart afford, 
Whose passion-touched harmonious strings accord 
True as the chcling spheres to Nature's plan ; 
And man, the brother, hves the fi-iend of man. 

"Bright as the pillar rose at Heaven's command, 
When Israel marched along the desert land, 
Blazed through the night on lonely wilds afar. 
And told the path, — a never- setting star : 
So, heavenly Genius, in thy course divine, 
Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine. 

Propitious power ! when ranlding cares annoy 
The sacred home of Hymenean joy ; 
When doomed to Poverty's sequestered dell, 
The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell. 
Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame. 
Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts the same; 
Oh, there, prophetic Hope ! thy smile bestow, 
And chase the pangs that worth should never kno"« 
There, as the parent deals his scanty store 
To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more, 
Tell^ that his manly race shall yet assuage 
Their father's wrongs, and shield his latter age. 
What though for him no Hybla sweets distil. 
Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill ; 
Tell, that when silent years have passed away. 
That when his eye grows dim, his tresses gray. 
These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build. 
And deck with fairer flowers his little field, 
And caU from Heaven propitious dews to breathe 
Ajcadian beauty on the barren heath; 
4* 



42 



CAMPBELL'S POF. 



Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile e&deam 
The days of peace, the Sabbath of his years, 
Health shall prolong to many a festive hour 
The social pleasures of his hmubk bower. 

Lo ! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, 
Her silent watch the mournf\il mother keeps ; 
She, while the lovely babe unconscious Ues, 
Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes, 
And weaves a song of melanclioly joy — 
«' Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy ; 
No hngering hour of sorrow shall be thine ; 
No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine ; 
Bright as his manly sire the son shall be 
In form and soul ; but, ah ! more blest than he ? 
Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love at last, 
Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past — 
With many a smile my solitude repay, 
And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. 

•* And say, when summoned from the world and ttee 

I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 

"WUt ihou, sweet mourner ! at my stone appear, 

And soothe my parted spirit lingering near ? 

Oh, Avilt thou com.e at evening hour to shed 

The tears of memory o'er my narrow bed; 

"With aching temples on thy hand reclined, 

Muse on the last farewell I leave behind, 

Bi*eathe a deep sigh to winds that raurmui low, 

And tliink on all my love, and all my wo ? " 

So speaks affection, ere the infant eye 

Can look regard, or brighten in reply; 

But when the cherub lip hath leamt to claim 

A mother's ear by that endearing name; 

Soon as the plaj'ful innocent can prove 

A tear of pity, or a smile of love. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS 43 

Or cons his m\inuiirmg task beneath her caie, 
Or lisps with holy look liis evening prayer, 
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear 
The mouml'ul ballad warbled in his ear i 
How fondly looks adinii-ing Hope the while. 
At every artless tear, and every smile ! 
How glows the joyous parent to descry 
A guileless bosom, true to sjonpathy ! 



Where is the troubled heart consigned to share 
Tumultuous toils, or solitary care, 
TJnblest by visionary thoughts that stray 
To count the joys of Fortune's better day ? 
Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume 
The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom, 
A long-lost friend )r hapless chUd restored, 
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board; 
Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow» 
And virtue triumphs o'er remembered wo. 

Chide not his peace, proud Reason ! nor destroy 
The shadowy forms of uncreated jo-* 
That m-ge the lingering tide of lifr^ and pour 
Spontaneous slumber on his miduight hour. 
Hark ! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale 
That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail; 
She, sad spectatress, on the \Vintry shore, 
Watched the rude sxirge his shroudless corse that hoi&^ 
Knew the pale form, and, shrieldng in amaze, 
Clasped her cold hands, and fixed her maddening gaze 
Poor widowed wretch ! 'twas there she wept in vairk 
Til] Memory fled her agonizing brain ; — 
But mercy gave, to charm the sense of wo, 
Ideal peace, that truth could ne'er bestow ; 
Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, 
^nd aimless Hopb dehghts her darkest dream 



14 CAMPBELLS POEMS 

Oft when yon moon has climbed the midnight sky 

And the lone sea-bird wakes its -wildest cry, 

Piled on the steep, her blazing fagots bum 

To hail the bark that never can return ; 

And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep 

That constant love can linger on the deep. 

And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings nevei kne"W 
The world's regard, that soothes, though half \uitrue; 
"Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, 
But fomid not pity when it erred no more. 
Yon ftiendless man, at whose dejected eye 
Th' unfeeling proud one looks — and passes by, 
Condemned on Penury's barren path to roam. 
Scorned by the world, and left without a home — 
Even he, at evening, should he chance to stray 
Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way. 
Where, round the cot's romantic glade, are seen 
The blossomed bean-field, and the sloping green, 
Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while — 
Oh ! that for me some home hke this would smile, 
Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form 
Health in the breeze, and shelter ia the storm I 
There should my hand no stinted boon assign 
To wretched hearts with sorrow such as mine ! 
That generous wish can soothe unpitied care, 
And Hope haJf mingles with the poor man's prayeti 

Hope ! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, 
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind, 
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see 
The boundless fields of rapture yet to be; 
I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan. 
And learn the future by the past of man. 

Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time, 
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime; 



Campbell's foeus 4,'» 

ITiy handmaid arts shall every wild exploie. 
Trace e\ery wave, and cultnxe every shore. 
On Erie's banlcs, where tigers steal along, 
And the dread Indiaa chants a dismal song, 
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk, 
And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk, 
There shall the Hocks on thjany pasture stray, 
And shepherds dance at Summer's opening day i 
Each wandering genius of the lonely glen 
Shall start to view the glitteruig haimts of men, 
And silent watch, on woodland heights around. 
The village curfew as it tolls profound. 

In Libyan groves, where damned rites are done. 
That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun 
Truth shall arrest the murderous arm profane, 
WHd Obi flies — the veil is rent in twain. 

"Where barbarous hordes on Scythian mountains roam, 
Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home; 
AMiere'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines. 
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines. 
Truth shall pervade th' unfathomed darkness there, 
And light the dreadful features of despair — 
Hark ! the stern captive spurns liis hea\'y' load, . 
And asks the image back that Heaven bestowed ! 
Fierce in his eye the fire of valor bums. 
And, as the slave departs, the man returns. 

Oh ! sacred Truth ! thy tritunph ceased a while. 
And Hope, thy sister, ceased -with thee to smile, 
Wlien leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars 
Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars. 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 



iQ CAMPBELL'S POEMS 

Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed. 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of rxiin laid ; 
Oh, Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding cotmtry saye I 
Is there no hand on high to sliield the brave? 
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow men ! our coujitry yet remauis ! 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on highS 
And swear for her to live — with her to die \ 

He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors few, but undismayed ; 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death, — the watchword and reply ; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
■And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew 5 
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo ! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered speaa^ 
Closed her bright eye, and cuxbed her high career; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell. 
And Freedom shrieked — as Koskiusco fell ! 

The Jun went down, nor ceased the carnage thei% 
Tumultuous Murder shook the midnight air — 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; 
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away, 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay! 
Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thimder fall, 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call I 



CAMPBEI. La's POEMS. 4 

Earth shook — red meteors flashed along tK */ 
And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry • 

Oh ! righteous Heaven ; ere Freedom found a gr&Te, 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save? 
Where wa-s thine arm, O Vengeance ! whery thy rod. 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God ; 
That crushed proud Ammon, when his ii'on car 
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar? 
>\Tiere was the storm that slumbered till the host 
Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembliiig coast; 
Then bade the deep in vnld commotion flow, 
Ajid heaved an ocean on their march below? 

Departed spiiits of the mighty dead ! 

Ye that at ^Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 

Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man,' 

Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 

Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 

And make her arm puissant as your o^n ! 

Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return 

Tlie patriot Tell — the Bruce of Bannockburn I 

Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! sha^J see 
That man hath yet a soul — and dare be free '. 
A little whUo, along thy saddening plaui&, 
Tiie starless night of Desolation reigns ; 
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, 
And, liKe Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven; 
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be htirled, 
Her name, her nature, mthered from the world ! 

Ye that the rising morn invidious mark, 

And hate the light — because your deeds are dark ( 

Ye that expanding truth invidious view, 

And think, or wish, the song of HaPE untrue; 



48 CAMPBELLS POEMS, 

Perhaps your little hands presume to span 
The march of Genius and the powers of man ; 
Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallowed shrine, 
Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine : — 
"Here shall thy triumph. Genius, cease, and here 
Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career." 

Tyrants ! in vain ye trace the -wizard ring ; 

la vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring : 

What ! can ye lull the winged winds asleep, 

Arrest the rolling world, or chtun the deep ? 

No ! — the wild wave contemns your sceptred hand - 

It rolled not back when Canute gave command ! 

Man ! can thy doom no brighter soul allow ? 
StiU must thou live a blot on Nature's brow? 
Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furled ? 
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world ? 
What ! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied ? 
Why then hath Plato lived, or Sidney died? 

Ye fond adorers of departed fame, 

Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name I 

Ye that, in fancied vision, can adndre 

The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre ! 

Rapt in historic ardor, who adore 

Each classic haimt, and well-remembered shore. 

Where Valor timed, amidst her chosen tluong, 

The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song ; 

Or, wandering thence, behold the later charms 

Of Engl&nd's glory, and Helvetia's arms ! 

See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell, 

And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell ! 

Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore, 

Hath Valor left the world — to live no more ? 

No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die, 

And sternly smile with vengeance in his eyet 



CAMPBELL'S POKMS. 4$ 

Hampdeu no more, when suifering Freedom calls, 
Encounter Fate, and triumph as he falls ? 
Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm. 
The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm? 

Yes ! in that generous cause, forever strong, 
The patriot's virtue and the poet's song, 
Still, as the tide of ages rolls away, 
Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay ! 

Yes ! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust, 
That slumber yet in uncreated dust, 
Ordained to fire th' adoring sons of earth, 
With every charm of msdom and of worth ; 
Ordained to light, with mtellectual day, 
The mazy wheels of nature as they play, 
Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, 
A.nd rival all but Shakspeare's name below. 

A.nd say, supernal Powers ! who deeply scan 

Heaven's dark decrees, unfathomed yet by man, 

When shall the world call do-wn, to cleanse her shaxos 

ITiat embr^'o spirit, yet Avithout a name, — 

Tliat friend of Nature, whose avenging hands 

Shall burst the Libyan's adamantine bands ? 

Who, sternly marking on his native soil 

The Mood, tne tears, the anguish, and the toil, 

Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see 

Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the free! 

Yet, yet, degraded men ! th' expected day 
That breaks your bitter cup, is far away ; 
Trade, wealth, and fashion, ask you still to bleed, 
And holy men give Scripture for the deed : 
Scourged and debased, no Briton stoops to save- 
A. wretch, a coward ? yes, because a slave I 



50 C A M P B K L L ' 9 1' O E M P . 

Etenial Nati^.re ! when thy giant hand 
Had heaved the floods, and fixed the trembling lar.d 
When life sprang startling at thy plastic call, 
Endless her forms, and man the lord of all ! 
Say, -was that lordly form inspired by thee, 
To wear eternal chains and bow the knee? 
Was man ordained the slave of man to toil, 
V'oked with the brutes, and fettered to the soilj 
Weighed in a tyrant's balance with his gold ? 
No ! — Nature stamped us in a heavenly mould ! 
She bade no wretch his thanldess labor urge. 
Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the scourge ; 
No homeless Libyan, on the stormy deep, 
To call upon his country's name, and weep ! 

Lo ! once in triumph, on liis boundless plain. 
The quivered chief of Congo loved to reign ; 
With fires proportioned to his native sky, 
Stretigth in his ann, and lightning in his eye; 
Scoured with wUd feet his sun-illumined zone, 
The spear, the lion, and the woods, his o-'atiI 
Or led the combat, bold without a plan, 
An artless savage, but a fearless man ! 

The plunderer came ! — alas ! no glory smiles 
For Congo's chief, on yonder Indian isles ; 
Forever fall'n ! — no son of Nature now, 
With Freedom chartered on his manly brow ! 
Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away, 
And when the sea- wind wafts the dewless day, 
Starts, with a bursting heart, for evermore 
To curse the sun that lights their guilty shore ! 

The sliriii horn blew; at that alarum knell 
Elo guardian angel took a last fareweU ! 
That funeral dirge to darkness hath resigned 
The fiery grandeur of a generous mind ! 



Campbell's posms. 3] 

poor fettered man ! I hear thee whispering low 
(Jnhallowed vows to Gtiilt, the child of Wo ! 
Friendless thy heart; and canst thou harbor thei® 
A -wish but death — a passion but despair ? 

The widowed Indian, when her lord expires, 
Mounts the dread pile, and braves the funeral firei t 
So faEs the heart at Thraldom's bitter sigh I 
So Virtue dies, the spouse of Liberty ! 

But not to Libya's barren climes alone, 
To Chili, or the wild Siberian zone, 
Belong the wretched heart and haggard eye. 
Degraded worth, and poor misfortune's sigh ! 
Ye orient realms, where Ganges' waters run ! 
Prolific fields ! dominions of the sun ! 
How long your tribes have trembled and obeyed? 
How long was Timour's iron sceptre swayed, 
Whose marshalled hosts, the lions of the plain, 
From Scythia's northern moimtains to the main, 
Raged o'er your phmdered shrines and altars bar©. 
With blazmg torch and gory cimeter, — 
Stunned with the cries of death each gentle gale. 
And bathed in blood the verdure of the vale ! 
Yet could no pangs the immortal spirit tame, 
When Brama's children perished for his name, 
The martjTT smiled beneath avenging power, 
And braved the t)Tant in his torturing hour! 

When Europe sought your subject realms to gain, 
And stretched her giant sceptre o'er the main. 
Taught her proud barks the winding way to shape ^ 
And braved the stormy Spirit of the Cape ; 
Children of Brama ! then was Mercy nigh 
To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye ? 
Did Peace descend, to triumph and to save, 
When freebom Britons crossed tte Ladian wave? 



^2 Campbell's poems, 

&.h., no ! — to more than Rome's ambition true» 
The Nurse of Freedom gave it not to you ! 
She the bold route of Europe's guilt be^an, 
And, in the march of nations, led the van ! 

Ricn in the gems Of India's gaudy zone, 

Aiid plur.der piled from kingdoms not their own. 

Degenerate trade ! thy nainions could despise 

Tlie heart-bom anguish of a thousand cries ; 

Could lock, with in\pious hands, their teeming store, 

WTiile famished nations died along the shore : 

Coiixd mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear 

riie curse of kmgdoms peopled "with despair ; 

Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name. 

And barter, with their gold, eternal shame ! 

But hark ! as bowed to earth the Bramin kneels, 
From heavenly chines propitious thunder peals ! 
Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell. 
Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell. 
And solenm sounds that awe the listening mind. 
Roll on the azure paths of every wind, 

♦* Foes of mankind ! (her guardian spirits say,) 

Revolving ages bring the bitter day, 

"Wlien heaven's unerring arm shall fall on you, 

And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew ; 

Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurled 

His a-v\^ul presence o'er the alarmed world ; 

Nine tunes hath Guilt, tlirough all his giant frame, 

Convulsive trembled, as the Mighty came ; 

Nine times hath suffering Mercy spared in vain — 

But Heavea shall burst her starry gates again ! 

He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky 

With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high, 

Heaven's fiery horse, beneath Ms warrior form, 

E*8ws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm ! 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS 



.^3 



Wide waves nis fiickcring SAvord ; his bright arms git \» 
Like stunmer suns, and light the world below ! 
Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed, 
Are shook ; and Nature rocks beneath his tread ! 

" To pour redress on India s injured reabn. 
The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm; 
To chase destruction from her plujidcred shore 
With arts and anns that triumphed once before, 
The tenth Avatar comes ! at Heaven's command 
Shall Seriswattee w«ivf» her hallowed wand ! 
And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa suoiime. 
Shall bless with joy their dwti propitious clime ! — 
Come, Heavenly Powers ! primeval peace restore ! 
Lore I — Mercy — Wiadom I — rule for evermoxe I 
6* 



AKALY8IB — PAHl ii. 



AMsxaoPHK to the power of Love — its intimate connection vpitl. 
fenerous and social Sensibility — allusion to that beautiful passage in 
llie beginning of the Book of Genesis, which represents the happmess 
of Paradise itself • incomplete, till Love was superadded to its other 
blessings — the dreams of future felicity which a li\ely imagination ia 
Rpl to cherish, when Hope is animated by refined altacliment— this di». 
position to combine, in one imaginary scene of residence, all that is 
pleasing in our estimate of happiness, compared to the skill of the great 
artist who personified perfect beauty, hi the picture of Venus, by an 
assemblage of the most beautiful features he could find — a summer and 
winter evening described, as they may be supposed to arise in the mind 
of one who wislies, with enthusiasm, for the luiion of friendship and 
retirement. 

Hope and Imagination inseparable agents — c^en in those contempla- 
tive moments when our imagination wanders beyond the boundaries of 
this world, our minds are not unattended with an impression that we 
shall some day have a wider and more distmct prospect of the universe, 
ingiead of the partial glimpse we now enjoy 

The last and most sublime influence of Hope is the concluding topic 
01 the poem — the predominance of a belief in a future state over the 
terrors attendant on dissolution — the baneful influence of that skeptica- 
piiilosophy which bars u* from such comforts — allusion to tfie fete of a 
•uicide — episode of Conred and Ellenore - tonduaion. 



THE PLEASURES OF HOPE 



PART li. 



[n joyous youth, what soul hath never known 
rhought, feeling, taste, harmoneous to its own ? 
Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive ey® 
Asked from his heart the homage of a sigh? 
Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame^ 
The power of grace, the magic of a name ? 

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
Cold as the rocks on Tomeo's hoary brow ; 
There be, whose loveless A^asdom never failed, 
In self-adoring pride securely mailed : — 
But, triumph not, ye peace-enamored few ! 
Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you ! 
For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
Where rapture uttered v.ows, and wept between; 
'Tis yours, unmoved, to sever and to meet ; 
No pledge is sacred, and no home ie sweet I 

Who that woidd ask a heart to diilness wed, 
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead? 
No ; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy, 
AiLd fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! 
And say, without our hopes, without our feara, 
Without the home that plighted love endears. 



58 Campbell's poems. 

Without tlie smile from partial beauty won, 
Oh. ! what were man ? — a world mthout a suil 

rm Hjaiien brought his love- delighted hour, 

There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower! 

In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, 

At starry midnight charmed the silent air ; 

In vain the wild-bird carolled on the steep, 

To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep ; 

In vain, to soothe the solitary shade. 

Aerial notes in mingling measure played ; 

The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, 

The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; — 

Still slowly, passed the melancholy day, 

And still the stranger wist not where to stray. 

The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild ! 

And man, the hermit, sighed — till woman smiled I 

True, the sad power to generous hearts may brii.g 

Delirious anguish on his fiery wing ; 

Barred fr-om delight by Fate's imtimely hand. 

By wealthless lot, or pitiless command; 

Or doomed to gaze on beauties that adorn 

The smile, of triumph or the frown of scorn ; 

While Memory watches o'er the sad review 

Of joys that faded like the morning dew ; 

Peace may depart — and life and nature seem 

A barren path, a wildness, and a dream ! 

But can the noble mind forever brood. 

The willing victim of a weary mood, 

On heartless cares that squander Life away, 

And cloud young Genius brightening into day ? -» 

Shame to the coward thought that e'er betrayed 

The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! — 

If Hope's creative spirit can not raise 

One trophy sacred to thy future days. 



Campbell's poems. 59 

Sconi tne dtdl crowd that haunt the gloomy shrme. 

Of hopeless love to miunnur and repine ! 

But, shoidd a sigh of milder mood express 

Thy heart-warm wishes, true to happiness, 

Shoidd Heaven's fair harbinger delight to pour 

Her bKssfu! visions on thy pensive hoiur, 

No tear to blot thy memory's pictured page, 

No fears but such as fancy can assuage ; 

Though thy -wild heart some hapless hour may miM 

llie peaceful tenor of unvaried bliss, 

(For love pursues an ever-devious race. 

True to the winding lineaments of grace ; ) 

Yet still may Hope her talisman employ 

To snatch from Heaven anticipated joy, 

And all her kindred energies impart 

That bum the brightest in the purest heart. 

When first the EJiodian's mimic art aiTayed 

riie queen of Beauty in her Cj-priau shade, 

The happy master mingled on his piece 

Each look that charmed him in the fair of Greece, 

To faultless Nature true, he stole a grace 

From every finer form and sweeter face; 

And as he sojourned on the ^gean isles, 

Wooed all their love, and treasured all their smiles , 

Then glowed the tints, piire, precious, and refined, 

And mortal charms seemed heavenly when combined 

Love on the picture smiled ! Expression poured 

Her raingliag sijirit there — and Greece adored I 

So thy fair hand, enamored Fancy ! gleans 
The treasured pictures of a thousand scenes; 
Thy pencn traces on the lover's thought 
Some cottage-home, from towns and toil remote. 
Where love and lore may claim alternate hours, 
Witli Peace embosomed in Idalian bowers 1 



fiO Campbell's poems. 

Remote from busy Life's bewildered way, 

O'er all his hef.rt shall Taste and Beauty sway! 

Free on the sunny slope or winding shore. 

With hermit steps to wander and adore ! 

There shall he love, when genial mom appears, 

Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears. 

To watch the briglitening roses of the sky, 

And muse on Nature with a poet's eye ! — 

And when the sim's last splendor lights the deep, 

The woods and waves, and murmuring winds asleep, 

When fairy harps the Hesperian planet hail, 

And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale. 

His path shall be where streamy mountains swell 

Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell. 

Where mouldering piles and forests intervene, 

Mingling with darker tints the living green ; 

No circling hills his ravished eye to bound. 

Heaven, Earth, and Ocean, blazing all around. 

The moon is up — the watch-tower dimly bums — - 

And down the vale his sober step returns; 

But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey 

The still sweet fall of mu^ic far away ; 

And oft he lingers from his home awhile 

To watch the dying notes ! — and start, and smile ! 



Let winter come ! let polar spirits sweep 

The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep ! 

Though boundless snows the withered heath deform. 

And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm, 

Yet shall the smile of social love repay, 

With mental light, the melancholy day! 

And. when its short and sullen noon is o'er, 

The ice-chained waters slumbering on the store, 

How bright the fagots in his Kttle hall 

Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall! 



Campbell's poems. G1 

Ho-w blest he names, in Love's familiar tone, 
The kind, fair friend, by nattire marked his own ; 
And, in the waveless minor of his mind, 
Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind, 
Since when her empire o'er his heart began ! 
Since first he called her his before the holy man' 

Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome, 

And light the wintry paradise of home; 

And let the half-tmcurtained -window hail 

Some way-worn man benighted in the vale ! 

Now, while the moaning night- wind rages high, 

As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky, 

While fiery hosts in Heaven's -v\-ide circle play, 

And bathe in lurid Hght the milky-way, 

Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower, 

Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn houx — 

With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, 

A generous tear of anguish, or a smile — 

rhy woes, Arion ! and thy simple tale, 

O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail ! 

Charmed as they read the verse too sadly true, 

How gallant Albert, and liis weary crew. 

Heaved all their guns, their foiindering bark to savC; 

And toiled — and shrieked — and perished on the wars 

Yes, at the dead of night, by Loima's steep. 
The seaman's cry was heard along the deep; 
There on his funeral waters, dark and wild, 
The dying father blessed his darling child ! 
Oh ! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried, 
Spent on the prayer his bursting heart, and died ' 

Or they will learn how generous worth sublime* 
The robber Moor, and pleads for all his crimes \ 
Hov/' poor Amelia kissed, mth many a teai. 
His hand, blood-stained, but ever, ever dear I 



52 Campbell's poems. 

Hung on the tortiired bosom of her lord, 
And wept and' prayed perdition from his sword! 
Nor sought in vain ! at that heart-piercing cry 
The &*rbxgs of Nature cracked wath agony! 
He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurled. 
And burst the ties that bound him to the world 1 

Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel 

Tlie shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel -^ 

Turn tc the gentler melodies that suit 

Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute ; 

Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, 

From clime to cHme descend, from age to age ! 

Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude 
Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood ; 
There shall he pause mth horrent brow, to rate 
What millions di^d — that Caesar might be great ! 
Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, 
Mfxrched by their Charles to Dnieper's swampy shore i 
Faint in his wounds and shirering in the blast. 
The Swedish soldier s^onk — and groaned his last ! 
File after file the stormy showers benumb. 
Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum! 
Horseman and horse confessed the bitter pang. 
And arms and warriorf, fell with hoUow clang ! 
Yet, ere he simk in Nature's last repose, 
Ere life's warm torrent to the fovmtain froze, 
The dying man to Sweden tximed his eye, 
Thought of liis home, and closed it with a sigh I 
Imperial Pride looked sullen on his plight, 
And Charles beheld — nor shuddered at the tight I 

Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky, 
Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie, 
And Hope attends, companion of the way. 
Thy dream by night, thy visions of the day ! 



Campbell's poems. G3 

In yonder pensile orb, and every sphere 

That gems the starry girdle of the yeai ; 

In those umneasured words, she bids thee tell. 

Pure from their God, created millions dwell, 

Whose names and natiires, unrevealed below, 

We yet shall learn, and wonder as we know ; 

For, as lona's samt, a giant form. 

Throned on her towers, conversing with the storaij 

(When o'er each Rimic alter, weed-entwined. 

The vesper clock tolls mournful to the -A-ind,) 

Coimts every wave-worn isle, and moimtain hoar, 

From Kilda to the gTeen lerne's shore ; 

So, when thy pui'e and renovated mind 

This perishable dust hath left behind, 

rhy seraph eye shaU count the stai-ry train, 

Like distant isles embosomed in the main ; 

Rapt to the shrine wliere motion first began. 

And light and life in mingling torrent ran ; 

From whence each briglit rotimdity was hurled, 

The throne of God, — the centre of the world I 



Oh ! vainly -vA-ise, the moral jSIuse hath simg 

That suasive Hope hath but a S^Ten tongue ! 

True; she iiiay sport with life's untutored day, 

Nor heed the solace of its last decay, 

Tlie guileless heart her happy mansion spurn. 

And part, like Ajut — never to rettum ! ^ 

But; yet, methiiiks, when Wisdom shall assuage 

The grief and passions of our greener age. 

Though dull the close of life, and far away 

Each flower that hailed the dawning of the days 

5ret o'er her lovely hopes, that once were dear, 

The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe, 

With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill. 

And weep their falsehood, though she loves them still ' 



B4 Campbell's poems. 

Tlius, with forgiving tears, and reconciled. 
The king of Judah mourned liis rebel child ! 
Muamg on days, when yet the guiltless boy 
Smiled on his sire, and filled liis heart with joy ! 
My Absalom ! the voice of Nature cried, 
Oh ! that for thee thy father could have died ! 
For bloody was the deed, and rashly done, 
Hi at slew my Absalom ! — my son ! — my son ! 



Unfading Hope ! when life's last embers bum, 
\^Tien soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! 
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! 
Oh ! then, thy kingdom comes ! Immortal Power ! 
What though each spark of earth-born rapture liy 
The quivermg lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
The morning dream of life's eternal day — 
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin, 
And all the phoenix spirit bums witlihi I 

Oh! deep -enchanting prelude to repose. 
The dawn of bhss, the twilight of our woes I 
Yet half I hear the pantmg spirit sigh, 
[t is a dread and a^vful thing to die ! 
Mysterious worlds, untravelled by the sun ! 
Wliere Time's far wandeiing tide has never run. 
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheresj 
A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud. 
Like Sinai's thujider, pealing from the cloud ! 
Wliile Nature hears, mth terror-mmgled trust, 
The shock that hurls her fabric to the duat : 
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
The roaring waves, and called upon his God, 
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bhss, 
And shiivek^. and hovers o'er the dark abyss I 



ca-mpbell's rOEMS* 65 

Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illiune 
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb; 
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll 
Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul ! 
Fly, Hke the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, 
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day! 
The strife is o'er — the pangs of Nature close, 
And life's last raptm-e triumphs o'er her woes. 
Hark! as the spirit eyes, -wdth eagle gaze, 
The noon of Heaven midazzled by the blaze, 
On heavenly -winds that waft her to the sky, 
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; 
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail 
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
WTien Jordan hushed his waves* and midnight BtiU 
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill ! 



Soul of the just ! companion of the dead ! 
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled? 
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes. 
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose; 
Doomed on his airy path awhile to burn. 
And doomed, like thee, to travel, and return. — 
Hark ! from the world's exploduig centre driven, 
With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven.. 
Careers the fier^' giant, fast and far. 
On bickeruig wheels, and adamantine car; 
From planet whirled to planet more remote. 
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; 
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is ruE, 
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun! 
So hath the traveller of earth unfurled 
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world i 
And o'er the path by mortal never trod. 
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God I 
6* 



66 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Oh ! lives there, Heaven ! beneath thy dread expaasa, 

One hopeless, dark idolater of A';:!hance 

CJontent to feed, vsdth pleasures unrefined, 

The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; 

Who, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trujst; 

In joyless union wedded to the dust, 

Co^ild all his parting energy dismiss, 

And call this barren world sufficient bliss ^ — 

There Hve, alas ! of heaven-directed mien, 

Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, 

VVho hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day. 

Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay, 

Fran as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, 

Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ; 

A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 

Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 

Light to the grave Ids chance-created form. 

As ocean- wrecks illimiinate the storm ; 

And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 

To night and silence sink for evermore I — 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 

Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Feane ? 

Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 

Children of Truth, and champions of her cause ? 

For this hath Science searched, on weary wing, 

By shore and sea — each mute and living thing ! 

Launched with Poeria's pilot from the steep. 

To worlds imknoAvn and isles beyond the deep ? 

Or round the cope her living chariot driven, 

And wheeled in triumph through the signs of Ilefivsji 

Oh ! star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there, 

To waft us home the message of despair ? 

Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, 

Of blasted leaf, and death- distUHng fruit ! 

Ah me ! the laurelled wreath tliat Murder rears, 

Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears. 



CAMi>BELL S POEMS. 61 

Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 

As waves the night-sliade round tlie skeptic head. 

What is the bigot's torch, the t^Tant's chain? 

I smile on death, IT Heaven-ward Hope remain! ^ 

But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife 

Be all the faithless charter of my life, 

If Chance awakened, inexorable power, 

This frail and feverish being of an hour; 

Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweeps 

Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 

To knoAV Delight but by her parting smile, 

And toil, and wish, and weep a little while ; 

Tlien melt, ye elements, that formed in vain 

This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! 

Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom, 

And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 

Truth, ever lovely, — since the world began, 

The foe of tjTants, and the friend of man, — 

How can thy words from balmy slvunber start 

Reposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart ! 

Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled, 

And that were true which Nature never told. 

Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field ; 

No raptuj-e dawns, no treasure is revealed ! 

Oh ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 

llie doom that bars us from a better fate ; 

But, sad as angels for the good man's sin, 

Weep to record, and blush to give it in ! 

And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay, -- 

l*ause at her martjT's tomb, and read the lay. 

Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale, 

It darkly hints a melancholy tale ! 

There, as the homeless madman sits alone, --, 

In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan ! 

And there, they say, a wizard ogie crowds, 

WTien the Moon lights her watch-tower in the clotitjn 



68 CAMPBELLS POEM 8. 

Poor lost Alonxo ! Fate's neglected cliild ! 

Mild be the doom of Heaven — as thou wert mild I 

For oh ! thy heart in holy mould was cast, 

And aU thy deeds were blameless, but the last. 

Poor lost Alonzo ! stiU I seem to hear 

The clod that struck thy hoUow-sounding bier ! 

When Friendship paid, in speechless sorrow drowiie^i, 

Thy midnight rites, but not on hallowed ground ! 



Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, 

But leave — oh ! leave the light of Hope behind i 

\Vhat though my winged hours ,of bliss have been, 

Like angel-visits, few and far between. 

Her musing mood shall every pang appease. 

And charm — when pleasirres lose the power to pleassi 

Yes ; let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee : 

Close not the light of Fortune's stormy sea — 

Mirth, Music, Friendsliip, Love's propitious sicale. 

Chase every care, and charm a little while. 

Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ. 

And all her strings are hai-monizcd to joy ! — 

But why so short is Love's delighted hour? 

Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetesst flower? 

Why can no hymned charm of music heal 

The sleepless woes impassioned spiiits feel? 

Can Fancy's fairy hands no veil create, 

To hide the sad realities of fate ? — 

No s not the quaint remark, the sapient mle, 
Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school. 
Have power to sootlie, tmaided and alone. 
The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone ! 
WTien stepdame Nature every bliss recalls, 
Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls; 
WTien, 'reft of all, yon v»ddowed sire appeM% 
A lonely hermit in the vale of y^aiB i 



Campbell's poems 69 

Buy, car: the world one joyous thought bestow 
To Friendsliip weepmg at the couch of Wo ? 
No ! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, — 
Souls of impassioned moidd, she speaks to you ! 
^Veep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain, -- 
Congenial spirits part to meet again! 



What plaintive sobs thy filial spii-it drew, 
What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu ! 
Daughter of Conrad? when he heard his knell, -— 
And bade his coimtry and his child farewell ! 
Doomed the long isles of Sydney-cove to see, 
The martjT of his crimes, but true to thee? 
Thrice tLe sad father tore thee from his heart. 
And tkrice returned, to bless thee, and to part; 
Thrice from his trembling Ups he murmured low 
The plaint that o^vned unutterable wo; 
Till Faith, prevaihng o'er his sullen doom, 
As bm-sis the morn on night's unfathoraed gloom, 
Lured his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime. 
Beyond tne realms of Nature and of Time I 

" And M eep not thus," he cried, " young EUenore, 
My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more ! 
Short shall this half- extinguished spirit burn, 
Ajid soon these limbs to kiridi-ed dxist return ! 
But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, 
The immortal ties of Nature shall expire ; 
These shall resist the triumph of decay, 
When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away I 
Cold ifi the dust this perished heart may lie, 
Put that -uhich warmed it once shall never die ! 
That spark unburied in its mortal frame, 
With living light, eternal, and the same, 
Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, 
Unveiled by darkness — unassuaged by tears I 



70 Campbell's poems. 

^Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep, 
One tedious watch is Conrad doomed to weep; 
But when I gain the home without a friend, 
And press the uneasy couch where none attend, 
This last embrace, still cherished in my heart, 
Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part! 
Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh. 
And hu«h the groan of life's ast agony 

" Farewell ! when strangers lift thy father's bier 
And place my nameless stone without a tear ; 
\Vlien each returning pledge hath told my child 
That Conrad's tomb is on the desert piled; 
And when the dream of troubled Fancy sees 
Its lonely ranlt grass wavmg in the breeze; 
Who then will soothe thy grief, when mme is o'e'i\ 
Who will protect thee, helpless EUenore? 
Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide. 
Scorned by the world, to factious guilt allied? 
Ah ! no ; methinks the generous and the good 
Will woo thee from the shades of solitude ! 
O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake, 
Ajid smile on innocence, for Mercy's sake ! " 

Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, 

The tears of Love were hopeless, but for thee ! 

If in that frame no deatliless spuit dweU, 

If that faint murmur be the last farewell, 

If Fate iinite the faithful but to part, 

"Why is their memory sacred to the heart? 

Wliy does the brother of my childhood seem 

Restored awMle in every pleasing dream ? 

Why do I joy the lonely spot to view. 

By artless friendsliip blessed when life was new? 

Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed their first notes to soimd the march of Time, 



WAMPBELL S POEMS. 



71 



Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade. — 
When all the sister planets have decayed ; 
'tVhen WTapt m fire the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below 
Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
And lio-ht thy torch at Nature's funeral pile. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING 



ADVEBTISEMENT. 



Most of the popular histories oi England, as well as of the Ameneaa 
war, give an authentic account of the desolation of Wyoming, in Penn- 
lylvania, which took place in 1778, by an incursion of the Indians. The 
scenery and incidents of the following Poem are connected with that 
event. The testimonies of historians and travellers concur in describing 
tne infant colony as one of the happiest spots of human existence, for 
the hospitable and innocent manners of the inhabitants, the beauty of 
the country, and the luxuriant fertility of the soii and chmate. In an 
evil hour, the junction of European with Indian arms converted this 
terrestrial paradise into a frightftij waste. Mr. Isaac Weld informs 
us, that the ruins of many of the villages, perforated with balls, and 
bearing marks of conflagration, were still preserved by the recent iuhab- 
It&nts, when he travelled throiigfi AmericR in 1799 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING 



PABT [. 



Ox Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! 

Although the \\ild-flower on thy ruined wall. 

And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring 

Of Avhat thy gentle people did befaU; 

Yet thou wert once the lovehest land of all 

That see the Atlantic wave their mom restore. 

Sweet land I may I thy lost delights recall, 

And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore. 

Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylyania's shore i 



Delightful Wyoming I beneath thy skies, 
The happy shepherd swains had nought to do 
Bui feed their flocks on green declivities, 
Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe, 
From mom till evening's sweeter pastime grew, 
With timbrel, when beneath the forests bro^s-n, 
Tliy lovely maidens would the dance renew; 
And aye those sunny moimtaiiis haJf-way down 
Wotilxl echo flagelet Ijom some romantic town. 



76 Campbell's poems. 

ni. 

Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takea 
His leave, how might you the flamingo see 
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes — 
And playful sqxiirrel on his nut-grown tree : 
And every sound of life was full of glee. 
From -merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men; 
While hearkening, fearing nought their revelry. 
The wild deer arched his neck fi-om glades, and ti,eB 
Unhmited, sought his woods and wilderness again. 



And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime 
Heard, but in transatlantic story rung, 
For here the exile met from every cKme, 
And spoke in friendship every distant tongue; 
Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung 
Were but divided by the running broolt ; 
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung, 
On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook. 
The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pnming< 
hook. 

V. 

Nor far some Andalusian saraband 

Would sound to many a native roundelay — 

But who is he that yet a dearer land 

Remembers, over hills and far away? 

Green Albin ! * what though he no more survey 

Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore. 

Thy pellochsf rolling from the mountain bay, 

!Chy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor, 

^d distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan % roar 

• Scotland. 

t The Gaelic appellation for the porpoise. 

% The great whirlpool of the Western Hebrides. 



Campbell's poems. 77 



AJu3 ! poor Caledonia's mountaineer, 

Tl.at -want's stem edict e'er, and feudal grief, 

Had forced him from a home he loved so dear ' 

Yet found he here a home, and glad relief, 

Ajid plied the beverage from his ow-n fair sheaf, 

That fired his Highland blood "with mickle glee : 

And England sent her men, of men the chief, 

Who taught those sires of Empire yet to be. 

To plant the tree of life, — to plant fair Freedom's trc* 



Here was not mingled in the city's pomp 
Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom ; 
Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp, 
Nor sealed ia blood a fellow- creature's doom. 
Nor mourned the captive in a living tomb. 
One venerable man, beloved of all. 
Sufficed, where uuiocence was yet in bloom, 
To sway the strife, that seldom might befall; 
And Albert was there judge in patriarchal hail. 



How reverend was the look, serenely aged. 
He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, 
Where all but kindly fervors were assuaged, 
Undimmed by weakness shade, or turbid ire ! 
And though, amidst the cabn of thought entire 
Some high and haughty features might betray 
A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire 
Tliat fled composure's intellectual ray, 
As ^Etna's fires grow dim before the rising d&y. 



I boast no song in magic wonders rife, 
But yet, oh Nature ! is there naught to pri^e, 
f* 



78 Campbell's poems. 

Familiar in tliy bosom scenes of life ? 

And d-svells in daylight trutli's salubrious skies 

No form with which the soul may s^inpathize ? — * 

Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild 

Die parted ringlet shone m simplest guise, 

An inmate in the home of Albert smiled. 

Or blest his noonday walk — she was his only child. 



The rose of England bloomed on Gertrude's cheek — 
What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire 
A Briton's independence taught to seek 
Far western worlds ; and there Ms household fire 
The light of social love did long inspire, 
And many a halcyon day he lived to see 
Unbroken but by one misfortune dire, 
When fate had reft his mutual heart — but she 
Was gone — and Q ertrude climbed a widowed father'i 
knee. 

XI. 

A loved bequest, — and I may half impart — 

To them that feel the strong paternal tie, 

How like a new existence to his heart 

That liAdng flower uprose beneath his eye, 

Dear as she was from cherub infancy. 

From hours when she wo\ild round his garden play, 

To time when as the ripening years went by, 

Her lovely mind could culture well repay, 

An'w mora engaging grew, from plcasiaig day to day. 



I may not paint those thousand infant charms; 

(^Unconscious fascination, ujndesigned !) 

The orison repeated in his arms, 

For God to bless her sire and all mankind ; 

The book, the bosi:m on liis knee reclined* 



Campbell's poems. 79 

Or bow sweet fairy-lore he heard her con, 

(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind:) 

All uncompanioned else her heart had gone 

TiU now, in Gertrude's eyes, their ninth blue sunmvfc! 

shone. 

xiu. 

And Btimmer was the tide, and Srweet the hour, 

"When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent. 

An Indian from Ms bark approach their bower, 

Of buskined limb, and swarthy liiieament ; 

The red wild feathers on his brow were blent, 

And bracelets bound the arm that helped to light 

A boy, who seemed, as he beside him went, 

Of Christian vesture, and complexion bright, 

Led by his dusky guide, Kke morning brought by night. 

XIV. 

Yet pensive seemed the boy for one so young — 

The dimple from his polished cheek had fled ; 

When, leaning on his forest-bow \mstrung. 

The Oneida warrior to the planter said, 

And laid his hand upon the stripling's head, 

" Peace be to thee ! my words tliis belt approve ; 

The paths of peace my steps have hither led : 

This little nursling, take him to thy love, 

And shield the bird unfledged, since gone the parent dove 



«* Christian! I am the foeman cf thy foe; 
Our wampum league thy bretliren did embrace : 
Upon the Michigan, three moons ago. 
We launched our ph-ogues for the bison chase, 
And with the Ilnrons planted for a space, 
With true and faitlifiil hands, the olive-stalk ; 
But snakes are in the bosoms of their race. 
And though they held with us a friendly talk, 
The hoUow peace tree fell beneath the tomahawk I 



80 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



** It was encampmg on the lalte's far port, 

A cry of Areouski * broke our sleep, 

Wliere stormed an ambushed foe thy nation's fost, 

And rapid, rapid whoops came o'er the deep ; 

But long thy country's war-sign on tlie steep 

Appeared through ghastly intervals of light, 

And deathfuUy their thimders seemed to sweep, 

Till utter darkness swallowed up the sight, 

As if a shower of blood had quenched the fiery fight 

XVII. 

"It rflept — it rose again — on high their tower 

Sprung upwards like a torch to light the skies. 

Then doMoi again it raijied an ember shower, 

And louder lamentations heard we rise : 

As when the evil Manitou that dries 

The Ohio woods, consumes them in his ire, 

In vain the desolated panther flies. 

And howls amidst his mlderness of fire: 

Alas ! too late, we reached and smote those Hurons dira 



"But as the fox beneath the nobler hounds 

So died their warriors by our battle-brand; 

And from the tree we, with her child, unbound 

A lonely mother of the Christian land : — 

Her lord — the captain of the British band • 

Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay. 

Scarce knew the widow our delivering hand ; 

Upon her child she sobbed, and swooned away, 

Or shrieked imto the God to whom the Cristians pray 

• The Indian God of War, 



C A M r B E M> ' S POEMS. 81 



"Our vixgiiis fed her ynth. their kindly bowls 

Of fever balm and sweet sagamite : 

Bm she was journeying to the land of souls, 

And lifted up her dying head to pray 

Tha,* we should bid an ancient friend convey 

Her orphan to his home of England's shore ; 

And take, she said, this token far away, 

To one that "will remember us of yore, 

When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave's Julia wore. 



•*Aiid 1, the eagle of my tribe, have rushed 

With this lorn dove." — A sage's self-command 

Had quelled the tears from Albert's heart that gushed ; 

But yet his cheek — his agitated hand — 

That showered upon the stranger of the land 

No common boon, in grief but iU beguiled 

A soul that was not wont to be unmanned ; 

" And stay," he cried, " dear pilgrim of the wild. 

Preserver of my old, my boon companion's cliild ! ■ 



XXL 



" Child of a race whose name my bosom worois, 

On earth's remotest boimds how welcome here! 

Whose mother oft, a child, has fiUed these arms, 

Yoimg as thyself, and imaocently dear, 

\!\Ti08e grandsire was my early Ufe's compeer. 

Ah, happiest home of England's happy clime ! 

How beautiful even now thy scenes appear, 

As in the noon and sunsliine of my prime ! 

How gone like yesterd^^v these thrice ten years of time 



52 CAMPBELLS POEMS 



"And Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now» 

Can I forget thee, favorite child of yore? 

Or thought I. in thy father's hou^e, when thou 

"Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor, 

And first of all his hosx)itable door 

To meet and kiss me at my journey's end ? 

But where was I when Waldegrave was no more? 

And thou didst pale thy gentle hand extend 

In woes, that even the tiibe of deserts Avas thy Mend I 



He said — and strained unto his heart the boy ; 
Far differently, the mute Oneida took 
His calixmet of peace, and cup of joy ; 
As monumental bronze unchanged liis look ; 
A soTil that pity touched, but never shook; 
Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier 
The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook 
Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — 
A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear. 



Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock 
Of Outalissi's heart disdained to grow ; 
As lives the oak trnwithered on the rock 
By storms above, and ban-enness below; 
He scorned his own, who felt another's woe: 
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung, 
Or laced his moccasins, in act to go, 
A song of parting to the boy he sung. 
Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly 
tongue. 

XXY. 

"Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land 
Bhouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet, 



Campbell's poems. 83 

Oh ! tell her spirit, that the white man's hand 

Hath plucked the thorns of sorrow from thy fctt } 

Wliile I in lonely wilderness shall greet 

Thy little foot-prints — or by traces know 

The foimtain, where at noon I thought it sweet 

To feed thee mth the qnaiTy of my bow, 

Ajid poured the lotus-horn, or slew the mountair foc 



A.dieu ! sweet scion of the rising sun ! 
But should affliction's stonns thy blossom mock. 
Then come again — my own adopted one I 
And I •will graft thee on a noble stock; 
The crocodile, the condor of the rocK, 
Shall be th=2 pastime of thy sylvan wars ; 
Ajid I will teach thee, in the battle's shock, 
To pay -svith Huron biood thy father's scarSy 
And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars I * 

xxvn. 

So finished hs the rhyme (howe'er imcouth) 
That true to nature's fervid feehngs ran; 
(And song i3 but tlie eloquence of truth :) 
Then forth uprose that lone v/ay-faring man ; 
But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan 
In woods required, whose trained eye waa keei]^ 
As eagle of the wilderness, to scan 
His path by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine, 
Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas greetL< 

xxvin. 

Old- Albert saw him from the valley's side — 
His pirogue laimched — his pilgrimage begun — 
Far, like the red-bird's -vvLng he seemed to glide} 
Hien dived, and vanished in the woodland* dun. 



81 Campbell's pokms. 

Oft, to that spot by tender memory won, 

Would Albert climb the promontory's heigK 

If but a dim sail glimmered m the sun ; 

But never more, to bless his longing sight, 

Was Outalissi hailed, with bark and plmnage bright. 



GERTRUDE OJP WYOMING. 



PART II, 



A. VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn 

Was Albert's home, two qmet woods betwceB» 

Whose lofty verdiire overlooked liis lawn , 

And waters to their resting place serene 

Came freshening, and reflecting all the scene : 

(A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves ;) 

So sweet a spot of earth, you might (I ween) 

Have guessed some congregation of the elves> 

To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for themselvoa 



Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse, 
Nor vistas opened by the wandering stream j 
Both where at evening Alleghany views, 
Through ridges burning in her western beam. 
Lake after lake interminably gleam : 
And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam 
Where earth's unliving silence all wotdd seem ; 
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dom9, 
Or buif«do remote lowed far from himian home. 
I 



86 Campbell's poems 



But silent not that adverse eastern path, 
Wliich saw Aurora's hiUs th' horizon crown j 
There was the river heard, in bed of %=iTath, 
(A precipice of foam from mountains brown,) 
Like tumults heard from some far distant town 
But softening in approach he left liis gloooi, 
And murmured pleasantly, and laid Mm down 
To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom. 
That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume. 

IV. 

It seemed as if those scenes sweet injfluence had 

On Gertrude's soul, and kinchiess like their own 

Inspired those eyes affectionate and glad, 

That seemed to love whate'er they looked upon 

Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone, 

Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast, 

(As if for heavenly musing meant alone ;) 

Yet so becomingly th' expression past, 

That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last 



Nor guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home, 

With all its picturesque and bahny grace, 

Aiid fields that were a luxury to roam. 

Lost on the soul that looked from such a face ! 

Entl asiast of the woods ! when years apace 

Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's zone, 

The simrise path, at mom, I see thee trace 

To hills with high magnolia overgrown. 

And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alonei 



The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth, 
That thus apostrophized its viewless 



Campbell's poems. 87 

♦Land of my father's love, my mother's birth! 
The home of kindred I have never seen ! 
We know not other — oceans are between : 
Yet say, far friendly hearts ! from whence we came, 
Of us does oft remembrance intervene? 
My mother sure — my sire a thought may claim; — 
But Gertrude is to you an imregarded name. 



"j4nd yet, loved England! when thy name I trace 

In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song, 

How can I choose but msh for one embrace 

Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong 

My mother's looks, — perhaps her likeness strong ? 

Oh, parent ! with what reverential awe, 

From features of thine o^ti related throng. 

An image of thy face my soid cotdd draw ! 

And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw I ' 



Yet deem not Gertrude sighed for foreign joy; 
To soothe a father's couch her only care, 
And keep his reverend head from all annoy : 
For this, methinJts, her homeward steps repair, 
Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hai? 
While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew. 
While boatman carolled to the fresh-blown air, 
And woods a horizontal shadow threw, 
And early fox appeared in momentary view. 



Apart there was a deep untrodden grot, 

Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore; 

Tradition had not named its lonely spot ; 

But here, methinks, might India's sons explore 

Their fathers' dust, or lift, perchance of yore» 



88 Campbell's poems. 

Their voice to the Great Spirit : — rocks sublime 

To human art a sportive semblance bore, 

And yellow lichens colored all the clime, 

Like moonlight battlements, and tow'rs decayed ty lime 



But high in amphitheatre above, 
G-ay-tiuted woods their massy foliage threw : 
Breathed but an air of heaven, and aU the grove 
As if instinct with liAong spirit grew, 
Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue ; 
And now suspended was the pleasing din, 
Now from a murmur faint it swelled anew, 
Like the first note of organ heard Anthin 
Cathedral aisles, — ere yet its symphony begin. 



It was in this lone valley she would charm 
The lingering noon, where flowers a oouch had strewn 
Her cheek rechning, and her snowy arm 
On hillock by the pine-tiee half o'ergrown : 
And aye that voliime on her lap is thrown, 
\Vhich every heart of human mould endears ; 
With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone. 
And no intruding visitation fears. 

To shame the unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetesi 
tears. 



And nought within the grove was heard or seen 

But stock-doves plaining through its gloom profound, 

Or -winglet of the fairy humming-bird, 

Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round ; 

When lo ! there entered to its inmost ground 

A youth, the stranger of a distant land; 

He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound ; 



CAMPBELLS POEMS. 89 

But late th' equator suns his cheek had tanned, 
Ajid California's gales his roving bosom fanned. 



A steed, wtose rein hung loosely o'er his arm, 
He led dismounted ; ere his leisure pace, 
Amid the brown leaves, coidd her ear alarm, 
Close he had come, and worshii^ped for a space 
Those downcast features : — she her lovely face 
Uplift on one, whose lineaments and frame 
Wore youth and manhood's intermingled grace : 
Iberian seemed his boot — liis robe the same, 
Aiid well the Spanish Dlume his lofty looks became. 



For Albert's home he sought — her finger fair 

Has pointed where the father's mansion stood. 

Retiuming from tho copse he soon was there ; 

And soon has Gertrude hied from dark-green wood; 

Nor joyless, by the converse, understood 

Between the man of age and pilgrim yomig, 

That gay congeniaKty of mood, 

And early liking from acquaintance sprung ; 

Full fluently conversed theii" guest in England's tong-ie 



And well could he his pilgrimage of taste 
Unfold, — and much they loved liis fervid strain, 
While he each fair variety retraced 
Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main. 
Now happy Switzer's hills, — romantic Spain, - 
Gay lilied fields of France, — or, more refined, 
the soft Ausonia's monumental reign ; 
Nor less each rural image he designed 
Tlian all the city's pomp and home of human kind. 
8* 



90 CAMPBELL S POEMS. 



A.non some wilder pjrtrcoiture he draws; 

Of Natiire's savage glories lie would speak, - 

The loneliness of earth, that overawes, — 

Where, resting by some tomb of old Cacique, 

The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak, 

Nor living voice nor motion marks around ; 

But storks that to the boundless forest shriek, 

Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound, 

That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado so^md. 



Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ply 
Each earnest question, and his converse court ; 
But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why 
A strange and troubling wonder stopped her short. 
" In England thou hast been, — and, by report. 
An orphan's name (quoth Albert) may'st have known. 
Sad tale ! — when latest fell our frontier fort, — 
One umocent — one soldier's child — alone 
Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my 
own. 

xvin. 

" Young Henry Waldegrave ! three delightful years 

These very walls his infant sports did see, 

But most I loved liim when his parting tears 

Alternately bedewed my child and me : 

His sorest parting, Gertrxide, was from thee; 

Nor half its grief his little heart could hold ; 

By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea. 

They tore him from us when but twelve years old, 

And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consoled 1 " 



His face the wanderer hid — but covld not hide 
^ tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell ; 



CAMP BELLAS POEMS. 91 

Ajid 'Speak! mysterious stranger!" Gertrude cr.ed; 

"It is ! — it is ! — I knew — I knew him well ! 

'Tis Waldegrave's seK, of Waldegrave come to teU ! " 

A burst of joy the father's Hps declare; 

But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fel] ; 

At once his open aiTas embraced the pair, 

Was nerer group more blest in this wide world of carts 

XX. 

"And will ye pardon, then," replied the youth, 

"Your "Waldegrave's feigned name, and fake attire? 

I diirst not in the neighborhood, in truth, 

The yery fortunes of your house inquire ; 

Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire 

Impart, and I my weakness aU betray; 

For, had I lost my Gertrude and my sire, 

I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day, 

Unknown I meant to weep, unknoA\'n to pass a-way. 



" But here ye live, ye bloom, — in each dear face, 

The changing hand of time I may not blame ; 

For there, it hath but shed more reyerend grace, 

And hero, of beauty perfected the frame, 

And weU I know your hearts are stni the same — 

They could not change — ye look the yery way, 

As when an orplian first to you I came. 

And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray ? 

Nay, wherefore weep ye, fi-iends, on such a joyoiis day ? 

xxn. 

"And art thou here? or is it but a dream? 
And wilt thou, Waldegrave, vnlt thou leave us more ? ' 
'• No, never ! thou that yet dost lovelier seem 
Than aught on earth — than ev'n 'thyself of yore — 



82 campbkll's poems. 

I win not part thee from thy father's shore; 
But we shall cherish him \vith mutual arms, 
And hand in hand again the path explore 
^Vhich every ray of young remembrance warms, 
While thou shalt be my g^ti, with all thy truth K 
charms ? " 

xsin. 

At mom. as if beneath a galaxy 

Of over-arching groves in blossoms white, 

Wliere all was odorous scent and harmony, 

And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight: 

There, if, oh, gentle Love ! -I read aright 

The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond, 

'Twas listerung to these accents of delight. 

She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond 

Expression's power to paint, all languishingly fond — 



" Flower of my life, so lovely, an d so lone ! 
Whom I would rather in this desert m.eet, 
Scorning, and scorned by fortune's pov.'er, than own 
Her — pomp and splendors lavished at my feet ! 
Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite 
Than odors cast on heaven's owm shrine — to please - 
Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet, 
And more than all the vv"ealth that loads the breesef 
When Coromandel's sliips return from Indian seas." 



Then would that home admit them — 1, Appier far 
Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, 
"SVliile, here and there, a solitary star 
Flushed in the darkeiling firmament of June ; 
And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon. 



CAMPBELLS POEMS 93 

Ineffable, wliich I may noi poiti^ay ; 

For never did the nj-menean moon 

A paradise of hearts more sa^jud sway. 

In ftU that slept beneath her soft Toluptuous ray* 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING 



PAWT m. 



. O Love ! in such, a wilderness as thie, 
Where transport and security entwine, 
Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, 
.And here thou art a god indeed divine. 
Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine. 
The views, the walks, that boimdiess joy inspire , 
Roll on, ye days of raptured influence, shine I 
Nor, blind ^\dth ecstacy's celestial fire. 
Shall love behold the spark of earth-bom time expire 



Tliree little moons, how short ! admldst the gfrore 

And pastoral savannas they consiune ! 

While she, beside her buskmed youth to rove, 

Delights, in fancifully wild costume. 

Her lovely brow to shade with Indian, plume ; 

And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare; 

But not to chase the deer in forest gloom, 

'Tis but the breath of heaven — the blessed air — 

Ani intei?hange of hearts unknown, imseen to shara 



Campbell's poems. 95 

in. 

\Vl.at though the sportive dog oft round them note, 

Or fawn, or wild bii-d bursting on the wing ; 

Yet who, in love's own presence, would devote 

To death those gentle throats that Avake the spring, 

Or writliing from the brook its victim bring ? 

No ! — nor let fear one Httle warbler rouse ; 

But, fed by Gertrude's hand, still let them sing, 

Acquaintance of her path, amidst the boughs. 

That shade eVn now her love, and witnessed first a«s 

TOWS. 

IT. 

Now labyrinths, which but themselves can pierce, 
Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant grovmd. 
Where welcome hills shut out the universe, 
And pines their liwny walk encompass round ; 
There, if a pause dehcious converse found, 
'TwRS but when o'er each heart th' idea stole, 
(Perchance awliile in joy's obKvion drowned) 
That come what may, while life's glad pulses roE, 
£ndissolubly thus shoidd soul be knit to soid. 



And in the visions of romantic youth. 

What years of endless bliss are yet to flow ! 

But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth? 

The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below ! 

And must I change my song ? and must I show, 

Sweet Wyoming ! the day when thou wert doomed, 

GuiLtk^ss, to mourn thy loveliest bowers laid low 1 

When where of yesterday a garden bloomed, 

Death overspread his pall, and blackening ashes gloomed ? 



Bad was the year, by proud oppression driven. 
When Transatlantic Liberty arose, 



^6 Campbell's POEMS. 

But in the sunshine and the smile of heaven, 
But wrapt in wliirlwinds, and begirt -with woes, 
Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes ; 
Her birth star was the light of burning plains ; • 
Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows 
From kindred heai-ts — the blood of British veins — 
And famine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains. 

vn. 

Yet, ere the stonn of death had raged remote, 
Or siege unseen in heaven reflects its beams, 
Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note, 
That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts and nightly di-eams V 
Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams 
Portentous Ught ! and music's voice is dumb ; 
Save where the fife its shrill reveille screams, 
Or midnight streets rct^cho to the drum, 
That speaks of maddening strife, and blood-stained ii*iida 
to come. 

viu. 

It was, in truth, a momentary pang ; 

Yet how comprising myi-iad shapes of wo ! 

.First when in Gertrude's ear the summonjs rang, 

A husband to the battle doomed to go ! 

" Nay, meet not thou," she cries, •< thy kindred foe ! 

But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand ! " 

" Ah, Gertrude, thy belcved heart, I know, 

Would feel like mine the stigmatizing brand ! 

Could I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy band ! 



" But shame — but flight — a recreant's name to prove, 
To hide in exile ignominious fears ; 

• Alluding to ihe miseries that attended the American civil war 



Campbell's poems. 97 

Say, ev'n if this I brooked, the public love 
Thy father's bosom to his home endears : 
And how could I his few remaining years, 
My Gertrude, sever from so dear a child ? " 
S05 day by day, her boding heart he cheers : 
At last that heart to hope is half beguiled. 
And, pale tlirough tears suppressed, the mournful beautj 
smiled. 

X. 

Night came, — and in their lighted bower, full late 
The joy of converse had endured — when, hark! 
Abrupt and loud, a summons shook their gate ; 
And heedless of the dog's obstrep'rous bark, 
A foi-m had rushed amidst them from the dark, 
And spread his arms, — and fell upon the floor : 
Of aged strength his limbs retained the mark; 
But desolate he looked, and famished poor. 
As ever shipwrecked \\Tetch lone left on. desert shore. 



Uprisen, each wondering brow is knit and arched; 
A spirit from the dead they deem him first : 
To speak he tries ; but quivering, pale, and parched. 
From lips, as by some powerless dream accursed, 
Emotions unintelligible burst ; 
And long his filmed eye is red and dim : 
At length the pity-proff'ered cup his thirst 
Had half assuaged, and nerved his shuddering limb, 
Wlien Albert's hand he gi-asped — but Albert knew not 
him: — 

xn. 

•* And hast thou then forgot," he cried forlorn, 
And eyed the group with half indignant air — 
" Oh ! hast thou, Christiar. chief, forgot the mom 
Wlien I with thee the cup of peace did share ? 
Then stately was this head, and dark this hair^ 
9 



^8 campbbll's poems. 

That now is -white as Appalachia's snow ; 
But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair, 
Ajid age hath bowed me, and the torturing foe. 
Bring me my boy! — and he will His deliverer know P 



it was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, 
Ere Henry to his loved Oneida flew : 
" Bless thee, my guide ! " — but backward, as he cami^ 
The chief his old bewildered head withdrew. 
And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him througii 
Twas strange — nor could the group a smile control. 
The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view : 
At last delight o'er all his features stole, — 
•'It is — my own," he cried, and clasped him to his soul 



♦• Yes ! thou recall' st my pride of years, for then 

The bowstring of my spirit was not slack, 

"^Tien, spite of woods, ar,d floods, and ambushed men 

I bore thee like the quiver on my back. 

Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack ; 

Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I feared,* 

For I was strong as mountain cataract : 

And dost thou not remember how we cheered. 

Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appeared 



" Then welcome be my death- song, and my death I 
Since I have seen thee, and again embraced." 
And longer had he spent his toil- worn breath; 
But with affectionate and eager haste, 
Was eyery arm outstretched aroimd their gu^te 

• Cougar, the Anaerican tigei 



Campbell's poems. 99 

To welcome and to bless his aged head. 

Soon was the hospitable banquet placed ; 

And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed 

On wounds with fevered joy that more profusely bled. 



«But this is not a time,"— he started up, 

And smote his breast with wo-denouncing hand — 

" This is no time to fill the joyous cup ! 

The Mammoth comes -the foe -the Monster Brandt J 

With aU his howling desolating band ; 

These eyes have seen their blade and burning pine 

Awake at once, and silence half your land. 

Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: 

Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning sl:ino f 

xvu. 
" Scorning to wiled the hatchet for hi. ^ . 
'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth 
Accursed Brandt ' he left of all my tribe 
Nor man, nor child, nor thing of li^dng birth : 
No ! not the dog that watched my household hearth. 
Escaped that night of blood, upon our plains ' 
AH perished ! - 1 alone am left on earth ! 
To whom nor relative nor blood remains. 
No ! - not a kindred drop that runs in human yeinfl. 



xvni. 



Bat go ! - and rouse your warriors ; - for, if right 
These old oewildered eyes could guess, by signs 
Of striped and sian-ed banners, on yon height 
Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines - 
feome fort embattled by your country shines: 
Deep roars tlie innavigable gulf below 
Its squared rock, and palisaded lines. 



100 Campbell's poems. 

Go ! *eek the light its warlike beacons show ; 

W>al8t I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the foe!"" 



Scarce had he uttered — when Heaven's ^Qt ^i extreme 

Reverberates the bomb's descending star, — 

And soTuids that mingled laugh, — and shout, ~ and 

To freeze the blood in one discordant jar, [scream* — 

Bung to the pealing thunderbolts of war. 

Whoop af oer whoop Avith rack the ear assailed \ 

As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar ; 

While rapidly the marksman's shot prevailed : — 

And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet wailed> 



Then looked they to the hills, where fire o'erhung 
The bandit groups, in one Vesuvian glare ; 
Or swei)t, far seen, the tower, whose clock unrung 
Told legible that midnight of despair. 
She faints, — she fsdters not, — the heroic fair, — 
As he the sword and plurae in haste arrayed. 
One short embrace — he clasped his dearest care — 
But hark ! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade ? 
Toy, joy ! Columbia's friends are trampling through the 
shade ! 



Then came of every race the mingled swarm. 

Far nmg the groves and gleamed the midnight gras8> 

With flambeau, javelin, and naJicd arm ; 

As warilors wheeled their culverins of brass, 

Sprung n-om the woods, a bold athletic mass, 

Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines : 

And first the -wild Moravian yagers pass, 

His plumed host the dark Iberian joins — 

And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle shsnss 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS 



101 



Ajid ill, the buskined hunters of the detr, 

To Albert's home, "with shout and cymbal tlirong: — 

Roused by ^eir warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer, 

Old Outalis&i woke his battle song, 

And, beating with his war-club cadence strong, 

Tells how his deep -stung indignation smarts. 

Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long, 

To whet a dagger on their stony hearts. 

And smile avenged ere yet his eagle spirit parts. — 



Calm, opposite the Christian father rose, 

Pale on his venerable brow its rays 

Of martyr light the conflagration throws ; 

One hand upon his lovely child he lays. 

And one the uncovered crowd to silence sways; 

While, though the battle flash is faster driven, — 

Unawed, Avith eye unstartled by the blaze. 

He for his bleeding country prays to Heaven, — 

Prays that the men of blood themselves may be foi given 



Short time is now for gratulating speech.: 

And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began 

Thy country's flight, yon distant towers to reach. 

Looked not on thee the rudest partisan 

With brow relaxed to love ? And murmurs ran. 

As round and round their -willing ranks they drew, 

From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van. 

Grateful, on them a placid look she threw. 

Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu I 



Past was the flight, and welcome seemed the tower. 
That like a giant standard-bearer frowned 



102 CAMPBELL S POEMS. 

Defiance on the roving Indian power, 

Beneath, each, bold and promontory mound 

With embrasure embossed, and armor crowned; 

Ajid arrowy frize, and wedged ravelin. 

Wove hke a diadem its tracery round 

The lofty summit of that mountain green ; 

Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene, - 



A scene of death ! where fires beneath the sun, 

And blended arms, and white pavilions glow; 

And for the business of destruction done. 

Its requiem the war-horn seemed to blow : 

There, sad spectatress of her coimtry's wo ! 

The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm, 

Had laid her cheek, and clasped her hands of snow 

On Waldegrave's shotdder, half within his arm 

Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hushed its wild alaxm 



But short that contemplation — sad and short 

The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu ! 

Beneath the very shadow of the fort. 

Where fiiendly swords were drawn, and banners flew, 

All ! who could deem that foot of Indian crew 

Was near ! — yet there, with lust of murderous deeds, 

Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view, 

The ambushed foeman's eye — his volley speed:s, 

And Albert — Albert falls ! the dear old fathei bleeds ^ 



And tranced in giddy horror Gertrude swooned ; 
Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone. 
Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound, 
These drops ? — Oh, God ! the life-blood is her own \ 
And faltering, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown — 



Campbell's poems 103 

'♦"Weep not, O Love!" — she cries, "to see me bleed — 
Thee, Getrude's sad si.xrv'ivor, thee alone 
Heaven's peace commiserate ; for scarce 1 heed 
These woiLids ; — yet thee to leave is death, is death 
indeed 1 



" Clasp me a little longer on the brink 

Of fate! ■v\hLe I can feel thy dear caress; 

And when thib heart hath ceased to beat — oh ! think, 

And let it mitigate thy wo's excess, 

That thou hast been to me all tenderness, 

And friend to more than human friendship just. 

Oh ! by that retrospect of happiness, 

And by the hopes of an immortal trust, 

God shall assuage thy pangs — when I am laid in dost 1 



" Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart. 

The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, 

Where my dear father took thee to his heart, 

And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove 

With thee, as mth an angel, through the grove 

Of peace, imagining her lot was cast 

In heaven ; for ours was not Uke earthly love 

And must this parting be oiu* very last ? 

No ! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past. 



Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth, — 

And thee, more loved than aught beneath the sun^ 

If I had lived to smile but on the birth 

Of one dear pledge ; — but shall there then be none. 

In future times — no gentle httle one, 

To clasp thy neck, and .cok, resembling me? 

Yet seems it, ev'n while Ife's last pulses tmm 



104 Campbell's poems. 

A sweetness in the cup of deatl to be, 

Lord of my bosom's love ! to die beholding thee ! 



Hushed were his Gertitide's lips ! but still their bland 
And beautiful expression seemed to melt 
With love that cotdd not die ! and still Ms hand 
She presses to the heart no more that felt. 
Ah, heart ! where once each fond affection dwelt, 
And features yet that spoke a soul more fair. 
Mute, gazing, agouiy,Lag as he knelt, — 
Of them that stood encircling liis despair. 
He heard some friendly words; — but knew not what 
they were. 

xxxm. 

For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives 

A faithful band. With solemn rites between 

'Twas simg, how they were lovely in their lives, 

And in their deaths had not divided been. 

Touched oy the music, and the melting scene, 

Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd . — 

Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen 

To veil their eyes, as passed each much-loved shroud—' 

While woman's softer soul m wo dissolved aloud. 



tlxen mournfully the parting bugle bid 

Its farewell, o'er the grave of worth and truth; 

Prone to the dust, afflicted Waldegrave hid 

His face on earth ; — him watched, in gloomy ruth. 

His woodland giiide: but words had none to soothe 

The grief that knew not consolation's name: 

Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth, 

He watched, beneath its folds, each burst that earnc 

Conwilsive, ague-Hke, gTross his shiddering frame I 



Campbell's poems 105 

XXXV. 

" And I could weep " — th' Oneida chief 

His descant mildly thus begun : 

"But that I may not stain with grief 

The death- song of my father's son, 

Or bow tliis head in wo ! 

For by my "\\Tongs, and by my wrath 1 

To-morrow Areouski's breath, 

(That fires yon heaven -with storms of death,) 

Shall light us to the foe : 

And we shall share, my Christian boy I 

The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy I 



"But thee, my flower, whose breath was giTen 

By milder genii o'er the deep, 

The spirits of the white man's heaven 

Forbid not thee to weep : 

Nor will the Christian host. 

Nor ynh thy father's spirit grieve, 

To see thee, on the battle's eve, 

Lamenting, take a moumfid leave 

Of her who loved thee most: 

She waa the rainbow to thy sight ! 

Thy sun — thy heaven — of lost delight I 

xxxvn. 

"To-morrow let us do or die I 

But when the bolt of death is hiirled, 

Ah! whither then with thee to fly, 

Shall Outalissi roam the world ? 

Seek Tte thy once-loved home? 

The hand is gone that cropped its flowers I 

Unheard their clock repeats its hours I 



iOQ Campbell's poems 

Cold is the hearth mthin their \ „• «i ^rs I 
And should we thither roaxa, 
Its echoes, and its empty tread, 
Would sound like voices from the dead ! 



*' Or shall we cross yon mountains blue, 

Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed, 

And by my side, in battle true, 

A thousand warriors drew the shaft ? 

Ah ! there, in. desolation cold, 

The desert serpent dwells alone, 

Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone, 

And stones themselves to ruin grown. 

Like me, are death-like old. 

Tlien seek we not their camp, — for there 

The sUence dweUa of my despair! 



" But hark, the trump ! — to-morrow them 
In gloiy's fires shalt dry thy tears : 
Ev'n from the land of shadows now 
My father's awful ghost appears, 
Amidst the clouds that rotmd us roU; 
He bids my soul for battle thirst — 
He bids me dry the last — the first — 
The only tears that ever burst 
From Outalissi's soul ; 
Because I may not stain with grief 
The death-song of an Indian chief I 



fHEODRIC: 



»01IBITIC TALB. 



THEODRIC 



A DOME STIC TALE 



TwAS simfletfc and the Ranz des Vach.es was sung, 
And lights were o'er the Helvetian mountains fluagj 
That gave the glacier tops their richest glow, 
And tinged the lakes like molten gold below. 
Warmth flushed the wonted regions of the storm, 
Where, Phcenix-like, you saw the eagle's form, 
That high in Heaven's vermilion wheeled and soared. 
Woods nearer frowned, and cataracts dashed and roared 
From heights browned by the bounding bouquetin ; 
Herds tinkling roamed the long-drawn vales between, 
And hamlets ghttered white, and gardens floiuished greea 
'Twas transport to inhale the bright sweet air ! 
The mountain-boe was revelling in its glare, 
And roving with his minstrelsy across 
The scented wild weeds, and enamelled moss. 
Earth's features so harmoneously were linked. 
She seemed one great glad form, with life instinct, 
That ielt Heaven's ardent breath, and smiled below 
Its flush of love, with consentaneous glow. 

A Gothic church was near; the spot around 
Was beautiful, even though sepulchral ground; 
For there nor yew nor cypress spread their gloom* 
But roses blossomed by each rustic tomb. 
10 



110 Campbell's poems 

Amidst tliem one of spotless marble shone — 

A maiden's grave — and 'twas inscribed thereon. 

That yoxmg and loved she died whose dust was there; 

" Yes," said my comrade, " young she died, and fair I 
Grace formed her, and the soul of gladness played 
Once in the blue eyes of that mountain-maid : 
Her fingers witched the chords they passed along, 
And her lips seemed to kiss the soul in song : 
Yet wooed, and worsliipped as she was, tiE few 
Aspired to hope, 'twas sadly, strangely true, 
That heart, the martyr of its fondness, burned 
And died of love that could not be returned. 



"Her father dwelt where yonder Castle shines 

O'er clustering trees and terrace-mantling vines. 

As gay as ever, the laburnum's pride 

Waves o'er each walk where she was wont to glide. 

And still the garden whence she gTazed her brow, 

As lovely blooms, though trode by strangers now. 

How oft, from yonder window o'er the lake, 

Her song of wild Helvetian swell and shake 

Has made the rudest fisher bend his ear 

And rest enchanted on his oar to hear ! 

Thus bright, accomplished, spirited, and bland, 

WeU-born, and wealthy for that simple land, 

Why had no gallant, native youth the art 

To win so warm — so exquisite a heart? 

She, 'midst these rocks inspired v^ith feelings strong 

By moxmtain-freedom — music — fancy — song. 

Herself descended from the brave in arms, 

And conscious of romance-inspiring charms, 

Dreamt of Heroic beings ; hoped to find 

Some extant spirit of chivalric kind ; 

And scorning wealth, looked cold even on the claim 

Of manly worth, that lacked the wreath of fame. 



€ampbell's poems 111 

"Her younger brother, sixteen summers old, 

And much her likeness both in mind and mould. 

Had gone, poor boy ! in soldiership to shine, 

And bore an Austrian banner on the Rhine. 

'Twas when, alas ! our Empire's evil star 

Shed all the plagues, without the pride of war; 

When patriots bled, and bitterer anguish crossed 

Our brave, to die in battles foully lost. 

The youth wrote home the rout of many a day ; 

Yet stni he said, and still AWth truth could say, 

One corps had ever made a valiant stand, — 

The corps in which he served, — - Theodric's band* 

His fame, forgotten cliief, is now gone by, 

Eclipsed by brighter orbs in Glory's sky; 

Yet once it shone, and veterans, when they show 

Our fields of battle twenty years ago, 

Will tell you feats his small brigade performed. 

In charges nobly faced, and trenches stormed. 

Time was, when songs were chanted to his fame, 

And soldiers loved the march that bore his name ; 

I'he zeal of martial hearts was at his caU, 

And that Helvetian's, Udolph's, most of all. 

'Twaa touching, when the storm of war blew wild, 

To see a blooming boy, — almost a child, — 

Spur fearless at his leader's words and signs, 

Brave death in reconnoitring hostile lines. 

And speed each task, and teU each message clear, 

Ll scenes where war-trained men were stuimed with, fett 

"Theodric praised him, and they wept for joy 

In yonder house, — when letters from the boy 

Thanked Heaven for life, and more, to use his phrases, 

Than twenty lives — his own Commander's praise. 

Then followed glowing pages, blazoning forth 

The fancied image of his leader's worth. 

With such hyperboles of youthful styles 

Ab made his parents dry their tears and smile: 



112 C A.MPB E1.L*S POEM a. 

But diifereutly far his words impressed 

A ■wondering sister's well- believing breast; — 

She caught the illusion, blessed Thbodric's nam€i^ 

And wUdly magnified his worth and fame; 

Rejoicing life's reality contained 

One, heretofore, her fancy had but feigned, 

Whose love could make her proud ! — and time { 

chance 
To passion raised that day-dream of Romance. 

** Once, when with hasty charge of horse and masa 
Our arriere-guard had checked the Gallic van, 
Thbodbic, visiting the outjiosts, found 
His TJdolph wounded, weltering on the grotmd : 
Sore crushed, — half-swooning, half-upraised he lay. 
And bent his brow, fair boy ! and grasped the clay^ 
His fate moved even the common soldier's ruth — 
Theodbic succored him ; nor left the youth 
To vulgar hands, biit brought him to his tent, 
And lent what aid a brother would have lent. 

"Meanwhile, to save his kindred half the smart 
The war- gazette's dread blood-roU might impart. 
He wrote th' event to them ; and soon could tell 
Of pains assuaged and symptoms auguxing weU ; 
And last of all, prognosticating cure, 
Enclosed the leech's vouching signaturCr 

"Their answers, on whose pages you might note 
That tears had fallen, wMle trembling fingers wrote^ 
Gave boundless thanks for benefits conferred, 
Of which the boy, in secret, sent them word. 
Whose memory Time, they said, would never blot; 
But which the giver had himself forgot, 

" In time, the stripling, vigorous and healed, 
Reaomed his barb and banner in the field, 



Campbell's poems, 113 

And bore himself right soldier-like, till now 

The third campaign had manlier bronzed his brow, 

When peace, though but a scanty pause for breath,—' 

A cnrtain-drop between the acts of death, — 

A check in frantic war's unfinished game, 

Yet dearly bought, and dixely welcome, came 

The camp broke up, and TJdolph left his chief 

As with a son's or younger brother's grief: 

But jotimeying home, how rapt his spirits rose ! 

How light his footsteps crushed St. Gothard's snows ! 

How dear seemed ev'n the waste and "wnld ShreckhorB< 

Though rapt in clouds, and frownmg as in scorn 

Upon a downward world of pastoral charms ; 

Where, by the very smeU of dairy-farms. 

And fragrance from the mountain-herbage blown, 

Blindfold his native hills he could have kno\vn ! 

*• His coming dovm yon lake — his boat in view 
Of "vsindows where love's fluttering kerchief flew- 
The arms spread out for him — the tears that burst 
('Twas Julia's, 'twas his sister's, met him first:) 
Their pride to see war's medal at his breast, 
And all their raptxire's greeting may be guessed. 

"Ere long, his bosom triumphed to unfold 
A gift he meant their gayest room to hold — 
The picture of a friend m warlike dress; 
And who it was he first bade Jullsl guess. 
' Yes,' she replied, * 'twas he methought in sleep, 
\^'Tien you were wounded, told me not to weep/ 
The painting long in that sweet mansion drew 
Regards its livriig semblance little knew. 

Meanwhile Theodric, who had years before 
Learned England's tongue, and loved her classic lore, 
A glad enthusiast, now explored the land. 
Where Nature, Freedom, Art, smile hand in hand; 
10* 



114 Campbell's pokms. 

Her women fiur ; her men robust for toil ; 

Her vigorous souls, high-cultured as her soil ; 

Her towns, where civic independence flings 

The gauntlet dovm. to senates, courts, and kiiigs; 

Her works of art, resembling magic's powers ; 

Her mighty fleets, and learning's beauteous bowers, — ■ 

These he had visited with wonder's smile, 

And scarce endured to quit so fair an isle. 

•* But how our fates from unmomentous things 
May rise, like rivers out of little springs ! 
A trivial chance postponed his parting day, 
And public tidings caused, in that delay. 
An English Jubilee. 'Twas a glorious sight ; 
At eve stupendous London, clad in light, 
Poured out triumphant multitudes to gaze ; 
Youth, age, wealth, penury, smiling in the blaze; 
Th' illiunined atmosphere was warm and bland, 
And Beauty's groups, the fairest of the land, 
Conspicuous, as in some wide festive room. 
In open chariot's passed with pearl and plume. 
Amidst them he remarked a lovelier mien 
Tlian e'er his thoughts had shaped, or eyes had 
The throng detained her till he reined his steed. 
And, ere the beauty passed, had time to read 
The motto and the arms her carriage bore. 
Led by that clue, he left not England's shore 
Till he had known her; and to know her well 
Prolonged, exalted, bound, enchantment's spell ; 
For with affections warm, intense, refined. 
She mixed such calm and holy strength of mind, 
ITiat like Heaven's image in the smiling brook, 
Celestial peace was pictured in her look. 
Hers was the brow, in trials unperplexed. 
That cheered the sad, and tranquillized the vexed ; 
She otudied not the meanest to eclipse, 
And vet the wisest listened to her lips; 



CAMPBELL SP0EM8. 115 

She sang not, knew not Music's magic skill, 
But yet her voice had tones that swayed the wiU. 
He sought — he won her — and resolved to make 
His future home in England for her sake. 

"Yet, ere they wedded, matters of concern 

To C-esak's Court commanded his return, 

A. season's space, — and on his Alpine way, 

He reached those bowers, that rang with joy that daf i 

The boy was half beside himself — the sire, 

AH frankness, honor, and Helvetian fire, 

Of speedy parting would not hear him speak; 

And tears bedewed and brightened Julia's cheek. 

"Thvis, loath to wound their hospitable pride, 

A month he promised \A'ith them to abide; 

As blithe he trod the moujitain-sward as they, 

And felt his joy make ev'n the young more gay. 

How jocund was their breakfast-parlor, fanned 

By yon blue water's breath — their walks how bland 1 

Fair Julia seemed her brother's softened sprite — 

A gem reflecting Nature's ptirest light — 

And "with her graceful wit there was inwrought 

A "woLdly sweet unworldliness of thought. 

That almost child-like to his kindness drew. 

And twin with Udolph in his friendship grew. 

But did his thoughts to love one moment range ! 

No ! he who had loved Constance could not change 

Besides, till grief betrayed her undesigned, 

Th' xmlikely thought could scarcely reach his mind. 

That eyes so young on years like his should beam 

TJnwooed devotion back for pure esteem. 

"True she sang to his very soul, and brought 
Those trains before him of luxuriant thought, 
Which only Music's Heaven-bom art can bring, 
To sweep across the mind -with angel wing. 



lie CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Once, as he smiled amidst that waking trance, 
She paused o'ercome: he thought it might be chance^ 
And, when his first suspicions dimly stole, 
Rebuked them back like phantoms from his soul. 
But when he saw his caution gave her pain, 
And Idiidness brought suspense's rack again, 
Faith, honor, friendship, bound him to unmask 
Truths which her timid fondness feared to ask. 

"And yet with gracefully ingenuous power 

Her spirit met th' explanatory hour; 

Ev'n, conscious beauty brightened in her eyes, 

That told she knew their love no vidgar prize; 

And pride, like that of one more woman-grown, 

Enlarged her mien, enriched her voice's tone. 

'Twas then she struck the keys, and music made 

That mocked all skill her hand had e'er displayea. 

Inspired and warbling, rapt from things around, 

She looked the very Muse of magic sound. 

Painting in sound the forms of joy and wo, 

Until the mind's eye saw them melt and glow. 

Her closing strain composed and calm she played, 

And sang no words to give its pathos aid ; 

But grief seemed lingering in its lengthened swell. 

And like so many tears the trickling touches felL 

Of Constance then she heard Theodiiic speak, 

And steadfast smoothness still possessed her cheek 

But when he told her how he oft had planned 

Of old a journey to their mountain-land. 

That might have brought him hither years before, — 

' Ah ! then,' she cried, * you knew not England's shore 

And, had you come, — and wherefore did you not ? ' 

* Yes,' he repHed, ' it would have changed our lot ! ' 

Then burst her tears through pride's restraining bandfli 

And with her handkerchief, and both her hands, 

She hid her voice and wept. Contrition stung 

Theodric for the tears hia words had wrung. 



Campbell's poems. l\ 

'But no,* she cried, 'unsay not what you've said, 
Nor grudge one prop on which my, pride is stayed j 
To think I could have merited your faith 
Shall be my solace even unto death ! ' 

* Julia,' Theodric said, with purposed look 
Of firmness, * my reply deserved rebuke ; 
But by your pure and sacred peace of mind, 
And by the dignity of womankind. 

Swear that when I am gone you'll do your best 
To chase this dream of fondness from your breast 

** Th' abrupt appeal electrified her thought ; — 
She looked to Heav'n as if its aid she sought, 
Dried hastily the tear-drops from her cheek, 
And signified the vow she coidd not speak. 

"Ere long he communed with her mother mild: 

* Alas ! ' she said, « I warned — conjured my child. 
And grieved for this afi'ection from the first, 

But like fatality it has been nursed ; 

For when her filled eyes on your picture fixed, 

And when your name in all she spoke was mir.ad, 

'Twas hard to chide an over-grateful mind ! 

Then each attempt a Hkelier choice to find 

Made only fresh-rejected suitors grieve. 

And Udolph's pride — perhaps her own — believe 

That, could she meet, she might enchant ev'n you. 

You came. — I augured the event, 'tis true, — 

But how was Udolph's mother to exclude 

The guest that claimed ouj botuadless gratitude? 

And that unconscious you had cast a spell 

On JuLLi^'s peace, my pride refused to tell : 

Yet in my child's illusion I have seen. 

Believe me well, how blameless you have been: 

Nor can it cancel, howsoe'er it end. 

Our debt of friendship to our boy's best friend/ 



/18 Campbell's poemb. 

A-t niglit lie parted with the aged pair ; 
At early morn rose Julia to prepare 
The last repast her hands for him should make 
And Udolph to convoy him o er the lake. 
The parting was to her such bitter griefi 
That of her own accord she made it brief; 
But, lingering at her window, long surveyed 
His boat's last glimpses melting into shade. 

" Theodric sped to Austria, and achieved 
His journey's object. Much was he relieved 
When Udolph's letters told that Julia's mind 
Had borne his loss firm, tranquil, and resigned 
He took the Rhenish route to England, high 
Elate with hopes, fuliilled their ecstacy, 
And interchanged with Constance's own breath 
The sweet eternal vows that bound their faith. 

"To paint that being to a grovelling mind 

Were hke portraying pictirres to the blind. 

'Twas needful ev'n infectiously to feel 

Her temper's fond and firm and gladsome zeal. 

To share existence with her, and to gain 

Sparks from her love's electrifying chain 

Of that puj-e pride, which, lessening to her breait 

Life's ills, gave all its joys a treble zest, 

Before the mind completely xmderstood 

That mighty truth — how happy are the good! 

•Ev'n when her light forsook him, it bequeathed 
Ennobling sorrow ; and her memory breathed 
A sweetness that survived her living days, 
As odorous scents outlast the censer's blaze. 

•* Or, if a trouble dimmed their golden joy, 
TTwas outward dross, and not infused alloy; 



Campbell's poems. 119 

Their home knew but affcc ion's looks and speech ^ 

A. little Heaven, above dissension's reach. 

But midst her kindred there was strife and gall ; 

Save jne congenial sister, they were all 

Such foils to her bright intellect and grace, 

As if she had engrossed the virtue of her race. 

Her nature strove th' unnatural feuds to heal, 

Her -wisdom made the weak to her appeal ; 

And, though the wounds she cured were soon unclosed 

Unwearied still her kindness interposed. 



" Oft on those errands thoixgh she went in vain. 

And home, a blank without her, gave him pain, 

He bore her absence for its pious end. — 

But public grief his spirit came to bend; 

For war laid waste liis native land once more, 

And German honor bled at every pore. 

Oh ! were he there, he thought, to rally back 

One broken band, or perish in the wrack ! 

Nor think that Constance sought to move and nielt 

His pur})ose : like herself she spoke and felt : — 

♦Your fame is n\ine, and I will bear all wo 

Except its loss ! — but with you let me go 

To arm you for, to embrace you from, the fight ; 

Harm will not reach me — hazards will delight ! ' 

He knew those hazards better ; one campaign 

In England he conjured her to remain, 

And she expressed assent, although her heart 

In secret had resolved they should not part. 

•*How oft the wisest on misfortune's shelves 

Are wrecked by errors most unlike themselves ! 

That Uttle fault, tJiat fraud of love's romance, 

That plan's conceahnent, wrought their whole mischance 

He knew it not preparing to embark, 

But felt extinct his comfort's latest spark, 



120 Campbell's poems. 

When, 'midst those numbered days, she made fepoiz 

Again to kuidjred worthless of her care. 

'Tis true she said the tidings she woidd write 

Would malce her absence on his heart sit light; 

But, haplessly, revealed not yet her plan, 

And left him in his home a lonely man. 

"Thus damped in thoughts, he mused upon the past; 

'Twas long since he had heard from TJdolph last, 

And deep misgivings on his spirit fell 

That all with TJdolph' s household was not welL 

'Twas that too true prophetic mood of fear 

That augurs griefs inevitably near, 

Yet malces them not less startling io the mind 

When come. Least looked-for then of human kiad, 

His TJdolph ('twas, he thought, at first, his sprite,) 

With mournful joy that morn surprised his sight. 

How changed was TJdolph ! Scarce Theodric durst 

Inquire his tidings ; — he revealed the worst. 

♦ At first,' he said, < as Julia bade me tell, 

She bore her fate high-mindedly and weU, 

Resolved from common eyes her grief to hide, 

And from the world's compassion saved our pride; 

But still her health gave way to secret wo, 

And long she pined — for broken hearts die slow ! 

Her reason went, but came returning, like 

The warning of her death-hour — soon to strike; 

And all for which she now, poor sufferer ! sighs, 

Is once to see Theodric ere she dies. 

Why should I come to tell you this caprice? 

Forgive me ! for my mind has lost its peace. 

I blame myself, and ne'er shall cease to blame. 

That my insane ambition for the name 

Of brother to Theodric, founded all 

Those high-bmlt hopes that crushed her by theJi In 11 

I made her slight her mother's counsel sage. 

But now my parents droop with grief and age; 



Campbell's poems 121 

Ajid, though my sister's eyes mean no rebuke, 

They overwhelm me with their dying look. 

The journey's long, but you are full of ruth ; 

And she who shares your heart, and knows its truth, 

Has faith in your affection, far above 

The fear of a poor dying object's love.' — 

*She has, my TJdolph,' he replied, ''tis true; 

And oft we talk of Julia — oft of you. 

Their converse came abruptly to a close; 

For scarce could each his troubled looks compose, 

When visitants, to Constance near akia, 

(In all but traits of soul,) were ushered in. 

They brought not her, nor midst their kindred band 

Tlie sister who alone, like her, was bland ; 

But said — and smiled to see it give him pain — 

That Constance would a fortnight yet remain. 

Vexed by their tidings, and the haught}' view 

They cast on Udolph as the youth withdrew, 

Theodric blamed his Constance's intent. 

"The demons went, and left him as they went 
To read, when they were gone beyond recall, 
A note from her loved hand explaining all. 
She said, that with their house she only stayed 
That parting peace might vnih them all be made. 
But prayed for love to share his foreign life, 
And shun all future chance of kindred strife. 
He wrote with speed, his soid's consent to say : 
The letter missed her on her homeward way. 
In six hours Constance was witliin his arms : 
Movid, flushed, unlike her wonted calm of charms, 
And breathless — with uplifted hands outspread — 
Burst into tears upon his neck, and said, — 
'I knew that those who brought your message laughed 
With poison of their omti to point the shaft ; 
And this my one kind sister thought, yet loath 
Confessed she feaxed 'twas true you had been wroth, 
11 



122 Campbell's poems. 

But here you are, and smile on me : my pain 
Is gone, and Constance is herself again.' 
His ecstacy, it may be guessed, was much : 
Yet pain's extreme and pleasure's seemed to touch. 
What pride ! embracing beauty's perfect mould ; 
What terror ! lest his few rash words, mistold, 
Had agonized her pulse to fever's heat: 
But calmed again so soon it healthful beat. 
And such sweet tones were in her voice's sound, 
Composed herself, she breathed composure round. 

" Fair being ! with what sympathetic grace 
She heard, bewailed, and pleaded Julia's case ; 
Implored he would her dying wish attend, 
' And go,' she said, * to-morrow with your friena , 
I'll wait for your return on England's shore. 
And then we'U cross the deep, and part no more.' 

"To-morrow both his soid's compassion drew 
To Julia's call, and Constance urged anew 
That not to heed her now would be to bind 
A load of pain for life upon his mind. - 
He went with Udolph — from his Constance went-- 
StiEing, alas ! a dark presentiment 
Some aliment lurked, ev'n whilst she smiled, to mock 
His fears of harm from y ester-morning's shock. 
Meanwhile a faithful page he singled out, 
To watch at home, and foUow straight his route, 
If aught of thre atoned change her health should sho\T 
-With Udolph then he reached the house of wo. 

"That winter's eve how darkly Nature's brow 
Scowled on the scenes it lights so lovely now ! 
The tempest, raging o'er the realms of i^e. 
Shook fragments from the rifted precipice ; 
And, whilst their falling echoed to the wind, 
rhe wolfs long h ' wl in dismal discord joined. 



Campbell's poems 123 

W\JLle wliite yon water's foam was raised in clouds 
That wMrled like spirits wailing in their shrouds : 
Without was Nature's elemental din — 
And beauty died, and friendship wept, within 

" Sweet Julia, though her fate was finished halC 

BtiU knew him — smiled on him with feeble laugh — 

And blessed him, till she drew her latest sigh ! 

But lo ! wliile Udolph's bursts of agony. 

And age's tremulous wailings, round him rose, 

>fVTiat accents pierced him deeper yet than those ! 

'Twas tidings, by his Engh'sh messenger. 

Of Constance — brief and terrible they were. 

She still was Uving when the page set out 

From home, but whether now was left in doubt. 

Poor Julia ! saw he then thy death's relief - 

Stunned into stupor more than "WTung with grief? 

It was not strange ; for in the human breast 

Two master-passions cannot coexist, 

And that alarm which now usurped his brain 

Shut out not only peace, but other pain. 

'Twas fancying Constance underneath the shroud 

That covered Julia made him first weep loud. 

And tear himself away from them that wept. 

Fast hurr^dng homeward, night nor day he slept. 

Till, launched at sea, he dreamed that his soul's saint 

Clung to him on a bridge of ice, pale, faint, 

O'er cataracts of blood. Awake, he blessed 

The fehore; nor hope left utterly his breast, 

till reaching home, terrific omen ! there 

Hie straw-laid street preluded his despair — 

The servant's look — the table that revealed 

ECis letter sent to Constance last, stOl sealed • 

Though speech and hearing left him, told too clear 

That he had now to suffer — not to fear. 

He felt as if he ne'er should cease to feel — 

A wretch ive-broken on misfortune's wheel ; 



124 Campbell's poems. 

Her death's cause — he might make his peace with 

Heaven, 
Absa.Ted from guilt but never self-forgiven. 

"The ocean has its ebbings — so has gri-sf; 

'Twas vent to anguish, if 'twas not relief. 

To lay his brow ev'n on her death- cold cheek. 

Then first he heard her one kind sister speak: 

She bade him, in the name of Heaven, forbear 

With self-reproach to deepen his despair: 

* 'Twas blame,' she said, * I shudder to relate, 

But none of yours, that caused oiir darling's fate ; 

Her mother (miist 1 caR her such ?) foresaw, 

Should Constance leave the land, she would withdraw 

Our House's charm against the world's neglect — 

The only gem that drew it some respect. 

Hence, when you went, she came and vainly spoke 

To change her purpose — grew incensed, and broke 

With execrations from her kneeling child. 

Start not ! your angel from her knee rose mild. 

Feared that she shoxild not long the scene outlive, 

Yet bade even you the umiatural one forgive. 

Till then her ailment had been slight, or none ; 

But fast she drooped, and fatal pains came on : 

Foreseeing their event, she dictated 

And signed these words for you.' The letter said — 

" * Theodric, this is destiny above 

Our power to baffle ; bear it then, my love ! 

Rave not to learn the usage I have borne, 

For one true sister left me not forlorn ; 

And though you're absent in another land. 

Sent from me by my own well-meant command, 

iTonx soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine 

As these clasped hands ia blessing you now join. 

Shape not imagined horrors in my fate — 

Even now my sufferings are not very great 



Campbell's poems. 125 

Ajid when your grief's first transports shall subside, 

I call upon yoiir strength of soul and pride 

To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the debt, 

LoTe's glorying tribute — not forlorn regret : 

I chsirge my name with power to conjure up 

Reflections balmy, not its bitter cup. 

My pardoning angel, at the gates of Heayen, 

Shall look not more regard than you have giyen 

To me ; and our life's union has been clad 

la smiles of bliss as sweet as Hfe e'er had. 

Shall gloom be from such bright remembrance cast? 

Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past? 

No ! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast. 

There let me smile, amidst high thoughts at rest; 

And let contentment on your spirit shine. 

As if its peace were still a part of mine : 

For if you war not proudly -with your pain, 

For you I shall have worse than lived in vain. 

But I conjure your manliness to bear 

My loss with noble spirit — not despair : 

I ask you by our love to promise this, 

And kiss these words, where I have left a kise, — 

The latest from my living lips for yours.' — 

"Words that will solace him wliile life endures: 
For though his spirit from affliction's surge 
Could ne'er to life, as life had been, emerge, 
Yet stiU that mind whose harmony elate 
Rang sweetness, even beneath the crush of fate, — 
That mind in whose regard all things were placed 
In views that softened them, or lights that graced, 
That soul's example could not but dispense 
A portion of its own blessed influence ; 
Invoking him to peace, and that self-sway 
Which Fortune can not give, nor take away : 
And though he mourned her long, 'twas vnth such wo 
As if her spirit watched him stiU below." 
11* 



TRANSLATIONS. 

FRAGMENT. 

FKOM THE greek: OF ALCMAN. 

The mountain summits sleep : glens, cliffs , and cayes 
Are silent — all the black earth's reptile brood — 
The bees — the wild beasts of the momitain wood: 

In depths beneath the dark red ocean's waves 
Its monsters rest, whilst wrapt in bower and spray 
Each bird is hushed that stretched its pinions to the day 



SONG OF HYBRIAS, THE CRETAN. 

My wealth's a burly spear and brand, 
And a right good shield of hides untanned, 

Which on my arm I buckle : 
"With these I plough, I reap, I sow, 
With these I make the sweet vintage flo^r. 

And all around me truckle. 

But your wights that take no pride to wield 
A massy spear and well-made shield. 



Campbell's poems. 127 

Nor joy to draw the sword • 
Oh, I bring those heartless, hapless drones, 
Down in a trice on their marrow-bones, 

To call me King and Lord, 



MARTIAL EI^GY. 

FROM THE GREEK OP TYRT-KUS. 

How glorious fall the valiant, sword in hand. 

In front of battle for their native land ! 

But oh ! Avhat ills await the wretch that yields, 

A recreant outcast from his country's fields ! 

The mother whom he loves shall quit her homo, 

An aged father at his side shall roam; 

His Uttle ones shall weeping with him go, 

And a young wife participate his woe ; 

While scorned and scowled upon by every face, 

They pine for food, and beg from place to place. 

Stain of his breed ! dishonoring manhood's form ! 
All ills shall cleave to hun : — aifliction's storm 
Shall bind him wandering in the vale of yeai-s, 
Till, lost to all but ignominious fears. 
He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name, 
And children, like himself, mnuxed to shame. 

But we will combat for our fathers' land. 

And we will drain the life-blood where we stantl, 

To save our chilcfren : — fight ye side by side, 

And serried close, ye men of youthful pride, 

Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost 

Of life itself in glorious battle lost. 



128 Campbell's poems. 

Leave not our sires to stem the tmequal fight, 
Whose lunbs are nerved no more with buoyant might 
Nor, lagging backward, let the yo.unger breast 
Permit the man of age, (a sight unblessed,) 
To welter in the combat's foremost thrust, 
II is hoary head dishevelled in the dust, 
And venerable bosom bleeding bare. 

But youth's fair form, though fallen, is ever fair, 
And beautiful in death the boy appears. 
The hero boy that dies in bloomiag years : 
In man's regret he lives, and woman's tears, 
More sacred than in life, and loveHer far, 
For having perished in the front of war. 



SPECIMENS OF TRANSLATION FROM MEDE5 

JIkuiovs 6e \eyoiVf kovSsv ti co<povi 
Tovg irpoffde /Sporovg ovk av anaproii. 

Medea, v. 194, p. 33, Glasg. edit. 

Tell me, ye bards, whose skill sublime 
First charmed the ear of youthful Time, 
With numbers wrapt in heavenly fire, 
Who bade delighted Echo swell 
The trembling transports of the lyre. 
The murmur of the shell — 
Wliy to the burst of Joy alone 
Accords sweet Music's soothing tone? 
Why can no bard, with magic strain. 
In slumbers steep the heart of pain ? 
While varied tones obey your sweep, 
The nuld, the plaintive, and the deep, 



Campbell's poems. \2\) 

Bends not despairing Grief to hear 
Your golden lute, wdth ravished ear ? 
Has all your art no power to bind 
The fiercer pangs that shake the mind. 
And lull the -vsTath at whose command 
Murder bares her gory hand? 
When flushed with joy, the rosy tlxrong 
Weave the Ught dance, ye swell . the song ! 
Cease, ye vain warblers ! cease to charm 
The breast with other raptures warm ! 
Cease ! till your hand with magic strain 
In slumbers steep the heart of pain ! 



SPEECH OF THE CHOBUS, 

m THE SAME TRAGEDY, 

to DtSSaADE MEUEA PliOM HER PURPOSE OF PUTTING KES 
CHILDREN TO DEATH, AND FLYING FOR PROTECT K.'X TO 
ATHENS. 

O HAGGARD quecn ! to Athens dost thou guide 
Thy glowing chariot, steeped in kindred gore : 

Or seek to hide thy foul infanticide 

AVliere Peace and Mercy dwell for evermore ? 

The land where Truth, pure, precious, and subliiy^e, 
Wooes the deep silence of sequestered bowers. 

And warriors, matchless since the first of time, 
Rear their bright banners o'er unconquered towm-s I 

^^^lere joyous youth, to Music's mellow strain, 
Twines in the dance with nymphs forever fair, 

S\'liile Spruig eternal on the lilied plain, 
Waves amlier radiance tlu-ough the fields of air ! 



130 Campbell's poems 

The ttuieful Nine (so sacred legends tell) 

First waked their heaveidy lyre these scenes among j' 

Btill in your greenwood bowsers they love to dwell; 
Still in your vales they swell the choral song I 

Bat there the tuneful, chaste Pierian fair, 

The guardian njTnphs of green Parnassus, now 

Sprung from Ilarmonia, while her graceful hair 
Waved in high auburn o'er her polished brow ! 

ANTISTB.0PHE I. 

"Where silent vales, and glades of green array, 
The murmuring wreaths of cool Cephisus lave, 

There, as the muse hath sung, at noon of day, 
The queen of Beauty bowed to taste the wave ; 

And blest the stream, and breathed across the land 
The soft, sweet gale that fans yon summer bowers ; 

And there the sister Loves, a smiling bajid, 

Crowned with the fragrant wreaths of rosy flowers ! 

*' And go," she cries, " in yonder valleys rove, 
With Beauty's torch the solemn scenes illume ; 

Wake in each eye the radiant light of Love, 

Breathe on its cheek young Passion's tender bloom. 

*' Entwine, with myrtle chains, your soft control, 
To sway the hearts of Freedom's darling Idnd ! 

With gloAving charms enrapture Wisdom's soul. 
And moidd to grace ethereal Virtue's mind." 

STROPHE n. 

The land where Heaven's own hallowed waters piay, 
Wliere friendship binds the generous and the good 

Bay, shall it hail thee from thy frantic way, 
Unholy woman ! with thy hands embrued 



Campbell's poems, 131 

In tliine o^m children'a gore ? Oh ! ere they bleed. 
Let Natiire 8 voice thy ruthless heart appall I 

pause at the bold, irrevocable deed — 

The mother strikes — the gtiiltless babes shall fall f 

Think what remorse thy maddening thoughts shall stirtg 
When djing pangs their gentle bosoms tear ! 

Where shalt thou sink, when lingering echoes ring 
The screams of horror in thy tortured ear ? 

No ! let thy bosom melt to Vit-fs cry, — 
In dust we kneel — by sacred Heav'n implore — 

O ! stop thy lifted arm, ere yet they die, 
Nor dip thy horrid hands in infant gore! 



AirnsTROPHE n. 

Say, now shalt thou that barbarous soul assume, 
Undamped by horror at the daring plan? 

Hast thou a heart to work thy children's doom ? 
Or hands to finish what thy wrath began ? 

When o'er each babe you look a last adieu, 
And gaze on Innocence that smiles asleep, 

Shall no fond feeling beat to Nature true, 

Charm thee to pensive thought — and bid thee weep 

Wlien the young suppliants clasp their parent dear, 
Heave the deep sob, and pour the artless prayer, — 

Ay ! thou shalt melt ; — and many a heart-shed tear 
Gush o'er the hardened features of despair ! 

Nature shall throb in every tender string, — 
Tliy trembling heart the ruffian's task deny; — 

Thy horror-smitten hands afcir shall fling 
The blade^ undrcnched In blood's eternal dye. 



132 campbell'8 poems 

CHOBTTS. 

Hallowed Earth ! with indignation 
Mark, oh mark, the murderous deed! 

Radiant eye of wide creation, 
Watch the accursed infanticide I 

Yet, ere Colchia's nigged daughteff 
Perpetrate the dire design, 

And consign to kindred slaughter 
Children of thy golden line I 

Shall mortal hand, with murder gory, 
Cause immortal blood to flow ? 

Sun of Heaven I — arrayed in glory 
Ease, forbid, avert the blow! 

In the vales of placid gladness 
Let no rueful maniac range ; 

Chase afar the fiend of Madness, 
Wrest the dagger from K.ever.ge ! 

Say, hast thou, with kind protcctio?^ 
Reared thy smiling race in vain ; 

Fostering Nature's fond affection, 
Tender cares, and pleasuig pain? 

Hast thou, on the troubled ocean, 
Braved the tempest loud and strong. 

Where the waves, in vnld. commotioc^ 
Roar Cyanean rocks among? 

Didst thou roam the paths of danger, 
Hymenean joys to prove ? 

Spare, O sanguinary stranger, 
Pledges of thy sacred loy&l 



CAMPBELL' g POBMg. 133 

Ask not Heaven's commiseration, 

After thou hast done the deed : 
Mercy, pardon, expiation, 

Perish when thy victicM bleed. 
9 



O'CONNOR^S CHILD; 
OR, *'the flower of love lies bleeding." 



Oh ! once the harp of Innisfail 

Was strung full hign to notes of gladness 

But yet it often told a tale 

Of more prevailing sadness. 

Sad was the note, and wild its fall. 

As winds that moan at night forlorn 

Along the isles of Fion-Gall, 

"When, for O'Connor's child to mourn. 

The harper told, how lone, how far 

From any mansion's twinkhng star, 

From any path of socitd men, 

Or voice, but from the fox's den, 

The lady in the desert dwelt ; 

And yet no wrongs, no fear she felt ; 

Say, why should dwell, in place so wild, 

O'Connor's pale and lovely child ? 



Sweet lady! she no more inspires 
Green Erin's hearts with beauty's power, 
As, in the palace of her sires, 
She bloomed a peerless flower. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 135 

Gone from her hand and bosom, gone, 
The royal brooch, the jewelled ling, 
That o'er her dazzling whiteness shone, 
Like dews on lilies of the spring. 
Yet wliy, though fall'n her brother's kerne, 
Beneath De Bonrgo's battle stem, 
AVhde yet in Leinster unexplored. 
Her fiiends survive the English sword; 
Why lingers she from Erin's host, 
So far on Galway's 8hip^vrecked coast ; 
Why wanders she a huntress wdd — 
O'Connor's pale and lovely child ? 



m. 

And fixed on empty space, why bum 

Her eyes with momentary -vvildness; 

And wherefore do they then return 

To more than woman's mildness ? 

Dishevelled are her raven locks ; 

On Connocht Moran's name she calls ; 

And oft amidst the lonely rocks 

She sings sweet madiigals. 

Placed 'midst the fox-glove and tne moss. 

Behold a parted warrior's cross ! 

That is the spot where, evermore, 

The lady, at her shiehng door. 

Enjoys that, in communion sweet, 

ITie living and the dead can meet, 

For, lo ! to love-lorn fantasy, 

The hero of her heart is nigh. 



Bright as the bow that spans tne 
In Erin's yeUow vesture clad, 
A son of light — a lovely form. 
He comes and makes her glal; 



136 Campbell's poems. 

Now on the grass-green turf he sits, 

His tasselled horn beside liim laid ; 

Now o'er the hills in chase he Hits, 

The hanter and the deer a shade ! 

Sweet mourner ! these are shadows vain 

That cross the twilight of her brain ; 

Yet she A\ill tell you, she is blest. 

Of Connocht Moran's tomb possessed, 

More richly than in Aghrim's bower, 

When baixls high praised her beaut\^s power, 

And kneeling pages offered up 

The morat in a golden cup. 



«* A hero's bride ! this desert bower, 

It ill befits thy gentle breeding : 

And wherefore dost thou love this flower 

To call — * My love lies bleeding ? ' " 

"• This purple flawer my teai-s have niirse^ 

A hero's blood supplied its bloom : 

I love it, for it was the fii'st 

I'hat grew on Connocht IMoran's tomb. 

Oh ! hearken, stranger, to my voice ! 

This desert mansion is my choice ! 

And blest, though fatal, be the star 

That led me to its wilds afar ; 

F)r here these pathless mountains free 

Gave shelter to my love and me; 

Ai\d every rock and every stone 

Bore witness that he was my own. 



** O'Cor^or's child, I was the \md 
Of Erui's royal tree of glory; 



Campbell's pofms. I37 



Bat V.0 to them tlaat \\Tapt in blood 
The tissue of my story ! 
Still as I clasp my biu-ning brain, 
A death-scene rushes on my sight; 
It rises o'er and o'er again, 
The bloody feud — the fatal night, 
When chafing Connoclit Moran'a scorn. 
They called my hero basely bom; 
And bade him choose a meaner bride 
Than from O'Connor's house of pride, 
llicii' tribe, they said, their high degree, 
Was sung in Tara's psaltery; 
Witness their Eath's victorious brand. 
And Cathal of the bloody hand ; 
Glory, they said, and power, and honor. 
Were in the mansion of O'Connor; 
But he, my loved one, bore in field 
A himibler crest, a meaner shield. 



" Ah, brothers I what did it avaU, 
That fiercely and triumphantly 
Ye fought the English of the pale, 
And stemmed De Bourgo's chivalry? 
And what was it to love and me, 
That barons by your standard rode; 
Or beal-fires for your jubilee * 
Upon a himdred mountains glowed? 
^Vhat though the lords of tower and dome 
From Shannon to the North-sea foam,— 
Thought ye your iron hands of pride 
Could break the knot that love had tied ? 
No ! — let the eagle change liis plimie, 
The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom ; 
But ties around this heart were spun, 
lliat could not, would not, be undone I 
12* 



138 ca^mpbell's poems. 

vm. 

"At bleating of the wild watch-fold, 
Thus sang my love — * Oh, come with me • 
Our bark is on the lake, — behold, 
Our steeds are fastened to the tree. 
Come far from Castle-Connor's clans ; 
Come with thy belted forestere. 
And I, beside the lake of swans, 
Shall hunt for thee the fallow-deer; 
And build thy hut, and bring thee home 
The wild-fowl and the honey-comb; 
And berries from the wood provide, 
And play my clarshech by thy side. 
Then come, my love ! ' — How could I stay } 
Our nimble stag-hotmds tracked the way, 
And I pursued, by moonless skies, 
ITie light of Connocht Moran's eyes. 



" And fast and far, before the star 

Of day-spring, rushed we through the glade, 

And saw at dawn the lofty ba^vu 

Of Castle- Connor fade. 

Sweet was to us the hennitage 

Of this unploughed, imtroddcn shore ; 

Like birds all joyous from the cage. 

For man's neglect we loved it more ; 

And well he knew, my huntsman dear, 

To search the game -with hawk and spear; 

While I, his evening food to dress, 

"Wotdd sing to him in happiness. 

But, oh, that midnight of despair ! 

When I was doomed to rend my hair : 

The night, to me, of shrieking sorrow ! 

The night, to him, that had no morrow X 



Campbell's fokms. 13i) 



•* When all was hushed, at even tide, 

I heard the baying of their beagle : 

Be hushed ! my Connocht Moran cried, 

'Tis but the screaming of the eagle. 

Alas ! 'twas not the e^Tie's sound ; 

Their bloody bands had tracked us out; 

Up -listening starts our couchant hand — 

And, hark ! again, that nearer shout 

Brings faster on the murderers. 

Spare — spare him — Brazil — Desmond fierce! 

In vain — no voice the adder charms; 

Their weapons crossed my sheltering arms. 

Another's sword has laid him low — 

Another's and another's ; 

And every hand that dealt the blow — 

Ah me ! it was a brother's ! 

Yes, when his moanings died away, 

Their iron hands had dug the clay. 

And o'er his burial turf they trod. 

And I beheld— .oh God! oh Godl — 

His life-blood oozing from the sod I 



"Warm in his death- woimds septdchred, 
Alas ! my warrior's spirit brave 
Nor mass nor uUa-lulla heard, 
Lamenting, sooth his grave. 
Dragged to their hated mansion back, 
How long in thraldom's grasp I lay 
I knew not, for my soul was black. 
And knew no change of night or day. 
One night of horror round me grew ; 
Or if I saw, or felt, or knew, 
'Twas but when those grim visages, 
The angry brothers of my race, 



140 CAMPBELL S POEMS. 

Glared on each eye-ball's aching throb, 
And checked my bosom's power to sob, 
Or when my heart with pulses drear 
Beat like a death-watch to my ear. 



"But Heaven, at last, my soul's eclipse 
Did -with a vision bright inspire ; 
I woke, and felt upon my lips 
A prophetess's fire. 
Thrice in the east a war-drum beat, 
I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound. 
And ranged, as to the judgment-seat, 
My guilty, trembling brothers round. 
Clad in the helm and shield they came ; 
For now De Bourgo's sword and flame 
Had ravaged Ulster's boundaries, 
And lighted up the midnight skies. 
The standard of O'Connor's sway 
Was in the turret where I lay ; 
That standard, with so dire a look. 
As ghastly shone the moon and i)ale, 
I gave, — that every bosom shook 
Beneath its iron mail. 



** And go ! (I cried) the combat seek, 
Ye hearts that unappaUed bore 
The anguish of a sister's shriek, 
Go ! — and return no more 
For sooner guilt the ordeal brand 
Shall grasp imhurt, than ye shall hold 
The banner with victorious hand, 
Beneath a sister's curse unrolled. 
O stranger 1 by my country's loss I 
And by my love I and by the croai I 



Campbell's poems. 141 

I swear I never could have spoke 
The curse that severed nature's yoke ; 
But that a spirit o'er me stood, 
And fired me with the -wTratliful mood ; 
And frenzy to my heart was given, 
To speak the malison Ct* heaven. 



" They Avould have crossed themselves, all mute } 

They would have prayed to burst the speli; 

But at the stamping of my foot 

Each hand down powerless fell ! 

And go to Athunree ! (I cried) 

High Hft the banner of your pride ! 

But know that where its sheet unrolls, 

The weight of blood is on your soids ! 

Go where the havoc of your kerne 

Shall float as high as moimtain fern ! 

Men shaU no more your mansion know; 

The nettles on your hearth shaU grow ! 

Dead, as the green oblivious flood 

That mantles by your waUs, shall be 

The- glory of O'Connor's blood ! 

Away ! away to Atliunree ! 

Where, downward when the sun shall faU, 

The raven's wing shall be your pall I 

And not a vassal shaU imlace 

The visor from your dying face I 



"A bolt that overhxing our dome 
Suspended till my curse was given. 
Soon as it passed these lips of foam, 
Pealed in the blood-red heaven. 
Dire was the look that o'er their back» 
The angry parting brothers threw: 



14:2 Campbell's poems. 

But now, behold ! like cataracts. 
Come down the hills in view 
O'Connor's plumed partisans ; 
Thrice ten Kilnagorvaan clans 
Were marching to their doom: 
A sudden storm their plumage tossed, 
A flash of lightning o'er them cros&sd, 
And all again was gloom! 



* Stranger ! I fled the home of grief; 
At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall ; 
I found the helmet of my chie^ 
His bow still hanging on our wall, 
And took it down, and vowed to rov® 
This desert place a htmtress bold; 
Nor would I change my buried love 
For any heart of living mould. 
No ! for I am a hero's cliild : 
I'U hunt my quarry in the wild ; 
And still my home this mansion ma^- 
Of all unheeded and unheedmg, 
And cherish, for my warrior's sak* — 
♦The flower of love lies bleeding/** 



CA.MPBEJL.Ii S POEMS 



143 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING 

WIZARD. LOCHIEL. 

•WIZARD. 

Loc KIEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee m battle array! 
For a field of the dead rushes red en my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight. 
Tliey rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; 
Wo, wo to the riders that trample them dowTi ! 
Proud Cimiberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of wpr, 
\Vhat steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 
'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride sliall await, 
like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red mth the sign of despair. 
W^eep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh weep ! but thy tears can not number the dead t 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,— 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

LOCHIEL. 

Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seei 1 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear. 
Draw, dotard, around thy oia wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

WIZJLRD. 

Ha ! laugh' st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn > 
Proud bird of the mountaui, thy plume shall be torn 



141 c>»mpbjell's poems. 

Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 

From his home, in the dark rollhig clouds of tlie v.orlh 

Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outsi^eeding, he rode 

Companioiiless, bearing destruction abroad; 

Eut doA\Ti let him stoop from liis havoc on higli ! 

Ah ! home let him speed, — for the spoiler is ni<^h. 

Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the bia.%t 

Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 

*Tis the fire-sliower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 

From his eyrie, that beacons the darluiess of heaven. 

Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 

Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 

Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to bum; 

Ketum to thy dwelling ! all lonely retui-n ! 

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 

And a wild mother scream o'er lier famisliing brood. 



False Wi^card, avainit ! I have marshalled my clan, 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath. 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then Avelcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam hlce a wave on the rox. k I 
But wo to his kindred, and wo to his cause, 
WTien Albin her clajTnore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud. 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array • 



— Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ; 
For, djirk and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal* 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 



CAMPBELF. 'S POKM9. 145 

£ tell thee, Cullodon's droad echoes shall ring 

With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 

Lo ! anointed by Heaven -wnth the vials of wrath, 

Behold, where he flies on liis desolate path ! 

Now in darkness and bdlows. he sweeps from my sight 

Rise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 

Tis iinished. Their thimders are hushed on the moors 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores : 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? — where? 

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 

Say, moimts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn. 

Like a Limb from his coxintry cast bleeding and torn? 

Ah no ! for a darker deptirture is near ; 

The war-drum is mutHed, and black is the bier ; 

His death-bell is tolling : oh ! mercy, dispel 

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 

Life ilutters convulsed ua his quivering limbs, 

And Ms blood-streaming nostril in agony sv/ims. 

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 

Wliere liis hearx shall be t}■lro^^Tl ere it ceases to beat, 

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gule 



I trust not the tale : 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet 
So black with dishonor, so foul ^\ith retreat. 
Though my perislihig ranks should be strewed in theii 

gore, 
Ijke ocean-weeds heaped on the siu-f-beaten shore, 
Lo;hicl, imtainted by flight or by chains, 
Wliile the kindling of Hie in his bosom remains, 
Sliall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe 1 
And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to Heaven from the death- bed of lame. 
J3 



UQ 



Campbell' g roBKS. 



BATTLE OF THS BALTIC 



Op Nelson and the North, 

Sing the glorious day's renown 

\Vlien to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark's crown, 

And her arms along the deep proudly shone i 

By each gun the Hghted brand, 

Li a bold determined hand, 

And the Prince of all the land 

Led them on. — 



like leviathans afloat, 

Lay tlieir bulwarks on the brine ; 

While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line : 

It was ten of April morn by the chime: 

As they drifted on their path. 

There was silence deep as death ; 

And the boldest held his breath, 

For a time. -^ 



But the might of England flushed 

To anticipate the scene ; 

And her van the fleeter rushed 

O'er the deadly space between- 

«' Hearts of oak ! " our captains cried, when eftcK 

From iti adamantiiie hps . [gun 

Spread a death-shade round the ships, 



Campbell's posms 147 

Like the hurricane eclipse 
Of the sun. — 

IT. 

Again I again I again i 

And the. havoc did not slack, 

Till a feeble cheer the Dane 

To our cheering sent us back i 

Their shots along the deep slowly boosn; 

Then ceased — and all is wail, 

As they strilce the shattered sail ; 

Or, in conflagration pale, 

Light the gloom. — 



Out spoke the victor then, 

As he hailed them o'er the wave; 
*• Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 
And we conquer but to save : — 
So peace instead of death let us bring; 
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 
With the crews, at England's feet, 
And make submission meet 
To our King."- 



Then Denmark blessed our chief, 

That he gave her woiinds repose ; 

And the sounds of iov and grief 

From her people wilaiy rose, 

As death withdrew his shades from the dajj 

While the sun looked smiling bright 

O'er a mde and wot'ul sight. 

Where the fires of funeral light 

Died away. — 



148 OAMPBKLL 8 POEMS. 

i< A- joy, Old England, raise ! 
Fu. the tidings of tliy might, 
By tlie festal cities' blaze, 
"VVluIst the wine-cup sliines in Ught ; 
And yet amidst that joy and nproar 
Let us think of them that sleej.), 
Full many a fathom deep, 
By thy wild and stormy steep, 
Elsinore ! — 

Tin. 

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride 

Once so faitliful and so true, 

On the deck of fame that died, 

With the gallant, good liiou : * 

Soft sigh the w-inds of Heaven o'er their grave! 

While the billow moujnful rolls, 

And the mermaid's song condoles, 

Singiiig glory to the souls 

Of the brave ! — 



• Captain Riou, jusUy entitled the gallant and the good, by L( id Nel 
Bon, when be wrote home his dispatuhee. 



■ »' 



Campbell's po^ms. 1^9 



IE MARINERS OF ENGLAND: 



A NAVAL ODB. 



Ye Mariners of England I 

lliat guard our native seas ; 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand year» 

The battle and the breeze ! 

Your glorious standard launch again 

To match another foe ! 

And sweep tlirough the deep, 

"While the stormy "winds do blow; 

"S\Tiile the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 



The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ! — 

For the deck it was their field of farae^ 

And Ocean was their grave : 

"Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell. 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 

As ye sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy winds do blow; 

"NVbile the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 



Britannia needs no bulwarks, 
No towers along the steep ; 
13» 



X50 CAMPBELL S FOfM» 

Her march is o'er the mountain-wav^ 
Her home is on the deep. 
With thunders from her native oak. 
She quells the floods below, — 
As they roar on the shore, 
When the stormy winds do blow; 
"When the battle rages loud and loi.g 
And the stormy winds do blow. 



The meteor flag of England 

Shall yet terrific bum; 

Till danger's troubled night depart, 

And the star of peace return. 

Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow 

To the fame of your name, 

"When the storm has ceased to blow ; 

When the fiery fight is heard no more 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 



HOHENLINDEN. 

On Lindta, when the sun was low. 

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat, at dead of nigbt, 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 



Campbell's toems. 151 

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neigiied, 
To join the dreadfxil revelry. 

Tlien shook the hills with thunder rben, 
Then rushed the steed to battle driven, 
And louder than the bolts of heaven, 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

But redder yet that light shall glow 
On Linden's liills of stained snow, 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Iser rolling rajiidly. 

'Tis mom, but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, 
^\^le^e furious Frank and fiery Hun, 
Shout in their sulph'rotis canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Wlio r\i5h to glory, or the grave : 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part where many meet I 
The snow shall be their winding-sbeetj 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchie. 



152 Campbell's poems 



GLENAKA. 

O HEAKr ye yon pibroch sound sad in the ^ale, 
Where a band eomeih slowly -with weeping and wail ? 
'Tis the cliief of Glenara laments for his dear ; 
And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier. 

Glenara came first with the moiimers and shroud ; 
Her kinsmen they followed, but mouaned not aloud : 
Their j)laids all their bosoms were folded around : 
They marched all in silence — They looked on the ground 

In silence they reached over moujitain and moor, 
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar : 
" Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn : 
\Vhy speak ye no word ? " — said Glenara the stern. 

'< And tell me, I charge you ! ye clan of my spouse, 
WTiy fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows ? '' 
S^ spake the rude chieftain : — no answer Is made, 
But each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed. 

♦« dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," 
Uried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud ; 
" And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem . 
Glenai-a! Glenara! now read me my dream!" 

! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, 
Wlien the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen 
Wlien a voice from the Idnsmen spoke loude'- in scorn, 
'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen <ji Lr rn 



C A M P B K L L ' S POEMS. I r>3 

'* I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her giicf, 
I dreamed that her lord waa a barl)arous chief* 
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem ; 
Glenai-a ! Glenara ! now read me my dream ! " 

In dui^t, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 
And the desert revealed where his lady was found ; 
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne — 
New joy to the house of fkir Ellen of Lorn ! 



EXILE OF ERIN. 

Thkbe came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, 

The dew on his tlun robe was heavy and chill : 
For his country he sighed, when at t-wilight repairing 

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 

But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion, 

For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean. 

Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion, 

He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh 1 

Sad is my fate ! said the heart-broken stranger ; 

The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee, 
But 1 liave no refuge from farame and danger, 

A home and a country remain not to me. 
Never again, in the green sunny bowers, 
WTiere my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours 
Or cover my harp "SN-ith the wild-woven flowers, 

And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh 

Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken. 
La dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; 



154 Campbell's poems. 

But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken. 

And sigh for the friends Avho can meet me no more 
Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me 
la a mansion of peace — where no perils can chase one 
Never again shall my brothers embrace me ? 
They died to defend me, or live to deplore ! 

Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood? 

Sisters and sire ! did ye weep for its fall ? 
NVhere is the mother that loolied on my cliildhood ? 

And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all? 
Oh ! my sad heart ! long abandoned by pleasure. 
Why did it dote on a fast-faduig treasure ? 
Tears, like the rain drop, may fall without measure, 

But raptxu:e and beauty they can not recall. 

Yet all its sad recollection suppressing. 

One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : 

Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee this blessing I 
Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh ! 

Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion. 

Green be thy delds, — sweetest isle of the ocean ! 

And thy harp-striking bai-ds sing aloud with devotioiu-' 
Erin mavournin — Erin go bragh 1 ♦ 



LORD TJLLINS DAUGHTER. 

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, 
Cries, *' Boatman, do not tarry ! 

And I'll give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry." — 

• Ireland my darling — Ireland for eve* 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 155 

**Now who be ye, would cross Lochgylo^ 

This dark and stormy water?" 
•* O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle. 

And tliis Lord Ullin's daughter.— 

" And fast before her father's men 

Three days we've fled together, 
For should he find us in the glen, 

My blood would stain the heather. 

*< Ilis horsemen hard behind tis ride ; 

Sho\ild they our steps discover, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

WTien they have slain her lover ? " — 

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight, 

"I'll go, my chief — I'm ready: — 
It is not for your silver bright ; 

Eut for your winsome lady : 

♦* And by my word ! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So though the waves are raging white,- 

I'll row you o'er the ferry." — 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 

The water-%vraith was slirioking ; 
And in the scowl of heaven each fac« 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind, 

And as the night grew drearer, 
Adown tlie glen rode armed men. 

Their trampling sounded nearer. — 

•* O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 
Though tempests round us gather; 



156 



I'll meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father." — 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
"When, oh ! too strong for human hand, 

Tlie tempest gathered o'er her. — 

And still they ro-wed amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailmg : 
Lord TTllin reached that fatal shore ; 

His \iTath was changed to wailing. 

For sore dismayed, throngh stonn and shade. 

His child he did discover : — 
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in griet 

" Across tliis stormy water : 
And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 

My daughter I — oh my daughter ! ' 

"Tw'as vain : the loud waves lashed the 8ho?% 

E«tum or aid preventing: — 
I'he waters wild went o'er his child, 

And be was left lamenting. 



Campbell's poems. 157 



ODE TO TIIE ^lEMORY OF BURNS. 

Soul of the Poet ! wheresoe'er, 

Reclaimed from earth, thy genius pliune 

Her -^vings of immortality : 

Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, 

And ^^'ith thine influence illunie 

llie gladness of our jubilee. 

And fly like fiends from secret spell, 
Discord and Strile, at 13 urns' s name, 
Exorcised by his memory ; 
For he was chief of bards that swell 
Tlie heart witli songs of social fiama; 
And high dehcious revelrj'. 

And Love's own strain to him was givea. 

To warble all its ecstacies 

With P5i;hian words unsought, unwilled — 

Love, the surviving gift of Heaven, 

The choicest sweet of Paradise, 

In life's else bitter cup distilled. 

Who, that has melted o'er his lay 
To Mary's soul, in Heaven above, 
But pictured sees, in fancy strong, 
The landscape and the livelong day 
That smiled upon their mutual love? — 
Who that has felt forgets the song ? 

Nor skilled one flame alone to fan : 
His coantrj^'s liigh-souled peasantry 
What patriot-pride he taught ! — how much 
14 



158 Campbell's poems. 

To weigh the inborn worth of man ! 
And rustic life and poverty 
Grow beautiful b«neath his touch. 

Him, in his clay-built cot, the muse 
Entranced, and showed him all the forma, 
Of fairj'-light and ^izaxd gloom, 
(That only gifted Poet views,) 
The Genii of the floods and storms, 
Ajid martial shades from Glory's tomb. 

On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse 

The swain whom Burns's song inspires ! 

Beat not his Caledonian veins, 

As o'er the heroic turf he ploughs, 

With all the spirit of his sires, 

And all their scorn of death and chains } 

,And see the Scottish exile tanned 

By many a far and foreign clime, 

Bend o'er his home-bom verse, and weep 

In memory of his native land, 

With love that scorns the lapse of time, 

And ties that stretch beyond the deep. 

Encamped by Indian rivers wild, 

The soldier resting on his arms. 

In Burns's carol sweet recalls 

The scenes that blessed him when a child; 

And glows and gladdens at the charms 

Of Scotia's woods and water-falls. 

O deem not, 'midst this worldly strife, 

An idle art the Poet brings: 

Let high Philosophy control, 

And sages calm, the stream of life, 

Tis he refines its foimtain-springs. 

The nobler passions of the soul. 



Campbell's poems. 159 

It is the muse that consecrates 
The native banner of the brave, 
Unfurling, at the trumpet's breath, 
Rose, thistle, harp ; 'tis she elates 
To sweep the field, or ride the wave, 
A sun-burst in the storm of death. 

And thou, young hero, when thy pall 

Is crossed with mournful sword and plum a, 

When public grief begins to fade, 

And only tears of kindred fall, 

"Wh.0 but the Bard shall dress thy tomb, 

And greet with fame thy gallant shade ? 

Such was the soldier — Burns, forgive 

That sorrows of mine own intnide 

In strains to thy great memory due. 

In verse like thine, oh ! could he Kve, 

The friend I mourned — the brave, the goiid -« 

Edward that died at Waterloo ! * 

Farewell, high chief of Scottish song I 
That couldst alternately impart 
Wisdom and rapture in thy page. 
And brand each vice with satire strong, 
Whose lines are mottoes of the heart, 
Whose truths electrify the sage. 

Farewell ! and ne'er may Envy dare 
To wiing one baleful poison drop 
From the crushed laurels of thy bust: 
But while the lark sings sweet in air, 
Still may the grateful pilgrim stop. 
To bless the spot that holds thy dust. 



Major Kd-w'ard Ilodge, of the 7th Hussars, who feJ] at the uead ol 
hifl sqaadroa in the attack of the Polish Lanceri. 



1()0 CAMP^KIiL'S POJSMS. 



LIlsES, 

WB-ITTEN ON YISITINQ A SCENE IN ARGYLE3HIHB. 

At the silence of t^vilight's contemplatiye hour, 

I have mused iii a sorro^^'tul runod, 
On the wind-shaken weeds .that embosom the bower, 

^Vhere the home of my forefathers stood. 
AH riuned and wild is their roofless abode, 

And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree ; 
And travelled by few is the grass-covered road, 
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode, 

To liis hills that encircle the sea. 

Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, 

Ey the dial-stone aged and green, 
One rose of the ANildei-ncss left on its stalk, 

To marK where a garden had been. 
Like a brother less hermit, the last of its race. 

All ANild in the silence of nature, it drew. 
From each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace, 
For the night- weed and thorn overshadowed the pSaco, 

WTiere the flower of my forefathers grew. 

Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all 

That remains in tliis desolate heart I 
Ine fabric of bhss to its centre may fall, 

But patience shall never depart ! 
Though the -wilds of enchantment, all venial and brighv 

In the days of delusion by fancy combined 
With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, 
Abandou my soul, like a dream of the night, 

And leave but a desert behind. 



CAMPBEI. L*S POEMS. ICl 

Be hushed, my dark spuit ! for wisdom condomns 

WTien the faint aiid the feeble deplore ; 
Be strong as the rock pf the ocean that stems 

A thousaiad wild waves on the shore ! 
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdftinj 

May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate I 
Yea ! even the name I have worsliipped h\ vain 
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again : 

To bear is to conquer our fate. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

Our bugles sang truce — for the night-cloud had lowered. 

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; 
\sid thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain; 

At the dead of the night a sweet "vision I saw, 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, 
Far, far 1 had roamed on a desolate track: 

''i Vas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 

I flew CO the pleasant fields traversed so oft 

Li life's morning march, when my bosom was young; 

I heard my own mountain -goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung, 
11* 



fS2 Campbell's poems. 

Then pledged we the -w-ine-cup, and fondly I swore, 
From my home and my weeping friends never to par^ 

My little ones kissed me a thousaiid times o'er, 
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fxdness of heart 

Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and woru 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay : — 

But sorrow returned with the dawning of mom, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 



TO' THE EAINBOW. 

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 
"When storms prepare to port ! 

I ask not proud Philosophy 
To teach me what thou art — 

8tiU seem, as to my childhood's sight, 

A midway station given 
For happy spirits to alight 

Betwixt the earth and heaven. 

Can all that Optics teach, unfold 

Thy form to please me so, 
As -when I di-eamed of gems and gold 

Hid in thy radiant bow? 

When Science from Creation s face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 

What lovely visions yield their plac© 
To cold material laws I 



Campbell's poems 163 

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams. 

But words of the Most High, 
Have told why first thy robe of beams 

Was woven in the sky. 

When o'er the green, undeluged earth 
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine. 

How came the woi-Id's gray fathers fortli 
To watch thy sacred sign ! 

And when its yellow lustre smiled 

O'er mountains yet untrod, 
Each mother held aloft her child 

To bless the bow of God. 

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, 

The first made anthem rang 
On earth delivered from the deep^ 

And the first poet sang. 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 

UnrapTured greet thy beami 
Theme of primeval prophecy, 

Be still the pivjphet's theme 

The earth to thee her incense ytekl-s. 

The lark thy welcome sings. 
When glittering in the freshened fields 

The snowy mushi'oom springs. 

liov/ glorious is thy girdle cast 

O'er mountain, tower, and towo^ 
Or, mirr-ored in the ocean vast, 

A thoisand fathoms down ! 

As fresh in yon horizon dark, 
Afl young thy beauties eeeis. 



164 (C A P.I p B E L JL, ' s p o K aa 9 

As when the eagle firom the ark 
First sported in thy beam. 

For, faitliful to its sacred page, 
Heaven still rebuilds thy span 

Nor lets the type grow pale with ag@ 
That first spoke peace to maja. 



THiE LAST MAj^. 

All worldly shapes shall melt in glcosa. 

The sun himself must die, 
Before this mortal shall assume 

Its Immortality ! 



I saw a vision in my sleep, 
That gave my spirit strength to 

Adovra the gulf of Time ! 
I saw the last of human mould, 
That shaU Creation's death behold 

As Adam saw her prime ! 



The Stm's eye had a sickly glare,. 

The Eirth with age was wan. 
The skeletons of nations were 

Around that lonely man ! 
Some had expii'cd m fight, — the braasda 
Still rusted in their bony hands; 

In plague and famine some ! 
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread ; 
And ships were drifting Tvith the dead 

To shores where tdl was dumb \ 



CA Ml* BELT. S POEMS 165 

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, 

"With dauntless words and high, 
That shook the sere leaves from the wood 

As ii a storm passed by, 
Saving, We are t-wins in death, proud Sun, 
Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 

'Tis Mercy bids thee go. 
For thou ten thoxisand thousand years 
Hast seen the tide of human tears, 

That shall no longer flow. 

What though beneath thee man put fortli 

His pomp, his pride, his skill ; 
And arts that made fire, flood and eaith, 

The vassals of his will ; — 
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, 
Thou dim discrowned king of day : 

For all these trophied arts 
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, 
Healed not a passion or a pang 

Entailed on htmian hearts. 

Go, let oblivion's curtain fall 

Upon the stage of men. 
Nor with thy rising beams recall 

Life's tragedy again. 
Its piteous pageants bring not back, 
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack 

Of pain anew to writhe ; 
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred 
Or mown in battle by the sword. 

Like grass beneath the scythe. 

Even I am weary in yon skies 

To watch thy fading fire; 
Test of all sumless agonies, 

Behold not me expire. 



166 CAMPBELL 8 POEMS. 

My lips that speak thy dirge of death — 
Tlieir rounded gasp and gurgling breath 

To see thou shalt not boast. 
The ecHpse of Nature spreads my pall,— 
The majesty of Darkness shall 

Receive my partmg ghost ! 

This spirit shall return to Him 

Who gave its heavenly spark; 
Yet think not, Sim, it shall be dim 

When thou thyself art dark ! 
No ! it shall live again, and shine 
In bliss unknown to beams of thine, 

By Him recalled to breath, 
Who captive led captivity, 
Who robbed the grave of Victory, — 

And took the sting from Death ! 

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up 

On Nature's awful waste 
To drink this last and bitter cup 

Of grief that man shall taste — 
Go, tell the night that hides thy face 
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race 

On Earth's sepulchral clod, 
The darkening universe defy 
To quench his Immortality, 

Or shake his trust in God! 



Oampbkll's poems. 167 



A- DREAM. 

Wet.l may sleep present us fictions. 

Since our waking moments teem 
With such fanciful convictions 

As make life itself a dream. — 
Half our daylight faitli's a fable ; 

Sleep disports with shadows too, 
Seeming in their turn as stable 

As' the world we wake to view 
Ne'er by day did Keason's mint 
Give my thoughts a clearer print 
Of assured reality, 
Than was left by Fantasy 
Stamped and colored on my sprite, 
In a dream of yesternight. 

In a bark, methought, lone steering, 

I was cast on Ocean's strife ; 
This, 'tw'as whispered in my hearing 

Meant the sea of life. 
Sad regrets from past existence 

Came, lilce gales of chilling breath j 
Shadowed in the forward distance 

Lay the land of Death. 
Now seeming more, now less remote, 
On that dim-seen shore, methought, 
I beheld two hands a space 
Slow unshroud a spectre's face ; 
And my flesh's hair upstood, — 
'Twas mine own similitude. — 

But my soul revived at seeing 
Ocean, like an emerald spark. 



J 68 C A M P B E I. L' fi r O K M 8. 

Kindle, -while an air-dropped being 

Snuling steered my bark. 
Heaven-like — yet he looked as huniaE 

As supeniaJ beauty can, 
More compassionate than woman, 

Lordly more than man. 
Aiid as some sweet clarion's breath 
Stirs the soldier's scorn of death — 
So Ms accents bade me brook 
The spectre's eyes of icy look, 
Till it shut them — turned its head, 
Like a beaten foe, and ilcd. 



♦♦ T}i5es not this," I said, " fair spirit ! 

That my death-hour is not come? 
Say, what days shall I inherit ? — 

Tell my soul their smn." 
" No," he said, " yon phantom's aspect, 

Trust me, would appall thee worse, 
Held in clearly measured prospect : — 

Ask not for a ciirse ! 
Make not, for I overhear 
Thine unsi)oken thoughts as clear 
As thy mortal ear could catch 
The close brought tickings of a watch- 
Make not the untold request 
That's now revoh^ig in thy breast. 

'Tifl to live again, remeasuring 

Youth's years, like a scene rehearsed, 
In thy second lifetime treasuring 

Knowledge from the fii-st. 
Hast thou felt, poor self-deceiver ! 

Life's career so void of pain, 
As to wish its fitful fever 

New begun again? 



Campbell's poems. 'i ^^ 

Could exj^eneiice, ten times thine, 

Pain from Being disentwine — 

Threads by Fate together spun ? 

Could thy flight Heaven's lightning Bhun ! 

No, nor coidd thy foresight's glance 

'Scape the myriad shafts of Chance. 

"VVouldst thou bear again Love's trouble — 

Friendship's death- dissevered ties ; 
ToU to grasp or miss the bubble 

Of Ambition's prii^e ? 
Say thy life's new guided action 

Flowed from Virtue's faii-est springs — 
Still would Envy and Detraction 

Double not their stings ? 
^Vorth itself is but a charter 
To be manlcind's distinguished martyr" 
— I caught the moral, and cried, " Hail ! 
Spirit ! let us on\i'ard sail, 
Envying, feaiing, hating none — 
Guardian Spirit, steer me on ! " 



VALEDICTORY STANZAS, 

TO J. P. KEMBLE, ESQ. 
OOMjeOSSD POR A PUBLIC MEETING HELP JUNE, 1817 

Pride of the British stage, 

A long and last adieu ! 
Whose image brought th' hercic age 

Revived to Fancy's view. 
15 



r70 Campbell's poems. 

Like fields refreshed with dewy light 

When the sim smiles his last, 
Thy parting presence makes more bright 

Onr memory of the past; 
And memory conjtires feelings up 

That wine or music need not swell, 
As high we lift the festal cup 

To Kemble — fare thee well ! 

His was the spell o'er hearts 

■\Vhich only Acting lends — 
The youngest of the sister Arts, 

Where all their beauty blends: 
For ill can Poetry express 

Fiill many a tone of thought sublime, 
And Painting, mute and motionless, 

Steals but a glance of time. 
But by the mighty actor brought, 

Illusion's perfect triumphs come, — 
Verse ceases to be airy thought, 

And Sctdpture to be dumb. 

Time may again revive. 

But ne'er eclipse the charm, 
Wlien Cato spoke in him alive, 

Or Hotspur kindled warm. 
What soul was not resigned entire 

To the deep sorrows of the Moor? 
What Enghsh heart was not on fire 

With liim at Agincourt? 
And yet a majesty possessed 

His transport's most impetuous tone* 
And to each passion of the breast 

The Graces gave their zone. 

High were the task— too high. 
Ye conscious bosoms here 1 



Campbell's pobms. 171 

Li words to paint your memory 
Of Kemble aiid of Lear ; 
But whe forgets that white discrowned head, 

Those bursts of Reason's half- extinguished glare, 
Those tears upon Cordeha's bosom shed 
In doubt more touching than despair, 
If 'twas reality he felt ? 

Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been, 
Friends, he had seen you melt, 
And triumphed to have seen ! 



And there was many an hour 

Of blended, kindred fame. 
When Siddons's auxiliar power 

And sister magic came. 
Together at the IMuse's side 

The tragic paragons had grown ; 
They were the clnldren of her pride, 

The colimms of her throne; 
And midivided favor ran 

From heart to heart in their appla\is€^ 
Save for the gallantry of man 

In lovelier woman's cause. 

Fair as some classic dome. 

Robust and richly graced, 
Your Kemble's spirit was the home 

Of genius and of taste ; 
Taste like the silent dial's power, 

That when supernal Hght is given. 
Can measure inspiration's hour. 

And tell its height ui heaven. 
At once ennobled and correct, 

His mind surveyed the tragic page, 
Ajid what the actor could effect, 

The scholar could presage. 



172 Campbell's poems. 

These were his traits of worth : — 

And must we lose them now ? 
And shall the scene no more shew forth 

His sternly pleasing brow? 
Alas, the moral brings a tear ! — 

'Tis all a transient hour below ; 
And we that would detain thee here. 

Ourselves as fleetly go ! 
Yet shall our latest age 

This parting scene review : — 
Pride of the British stage, 

A long and last adieu 1 



LINES 



JTBITTEN AT THE EEaUEST OP THE HIGHLAND 80CIBTT Dl 
LONDON, WHEN MET TO COMMEMOBATB THE 2lBT OB 
MARCH, THE DAY OP VICTORY IN EGYPT. 

Pledge to the much-loved land that gave us birth I 

Invincible romantic Scotia's sliore ! 
Pledge to the memory of her parted worth ! 

And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore I 

And be it deemed not -vNTong that name to give, 
In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh 

Who would not envy such as Moore to hve? 
And died he not as heroes wish to die ? 

Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal, 
To us his bright cai-eer too sliort was given; 

Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix soul 
Rose on the flames of victory to Heaven I 



CAMPBELL S POEMS, 173 

fio-w oft (if beats in subjugated Spain 

One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn 

For him ! — How oft on far Corunna's plain 
Shall British exiles weep upon his uri^! 

Peace to the mighty dead ; — our bosom thanks 
Li sprightlier strains the living may inspire ! 

Joy to the chiefs that led old Scotia's ranks, 
Of Roman garb and more than lioman fire I 

Triumphant be the thistle still unfurled, 

Dear symbol wild ! on Freedom's hiUs it grows, 

S\'Tiere Fingal stemmed the t}Tants of tlie world. 
And Roman eagles found imconquered foes. 

Joy to the band * this day on Egj'pt's coast, 
Whose valor tamed proud France's tricolor. 

And wrenched the banner from her bravest host, 
Baptized Invincible in Austria's gore ! 

Joy for the day on red Vineira's strand* 

When, bayonet to bayonet opposed, 
Fii'st of Britannia's host her Highland band 

Gave but the death-shot once, and foremost closed [ 

Is there a son of generous England here 
Or fer\id Erin ? — he with us shall join, 

To pray that in eternal union dear. 
The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine I 

Types of a race who shall th' invader scorn. 
As rocks resist the biQows round their shore ; 

Fypes of a race who shall to time unborn 
Their country leave unconquered as of yore I 

• The 42d Regiment 
16* 



174 



CAMPBELLS POEi^S 



STAJSrZAS 



TO THB MEMOKT OP THE SPANISH PATKIOTS LATEST KILLES 
IN aESISTING THE REGENCY AND THE DUKE OF ANOOULKMS, 

Brave men who at the Trocadero fell — 
Beside your cannons conquered not, though slain, 
There is a victory in dying well 
For Freedom, — and ye have not died in vain ; 
For come what may, there shall be hearts in Spain 
To honor, ay embrace your martyred lot, 
Cursing the Bigot's and the Boiirbon's chain, 
And looking on your graves, though tropliied not. 
As holier hallowed groimd than priests could make tli<i 
spot ! 

What though your case be baffled — freemen cast 

In dungeons — dragged to death, or forced to flee ; 

Hope is not withered in affliction's blast — 

The patriot's blood 's the seed of Freedom's tree ; 

And short your orgies of revenge shall be, 

Cowled demons of the Inquisitorial cell ! 

Earth shudders at your victory, — for ye 

Are worse than common fiends from Heaven that fellj 

The baser, ranker sprung. Autochthones of Hell ! 

Go to your bloody rites again — bring back 

The hall of horrors and the assessor's pen, 

Recording answers shrieked upon the rack; 

Smile o'er the gaspings of spine-broken men \ — 

Preach, perpetrate damnation in your den ; — 

Then let your altars, ye blasphemers ! peal 

With thanlcs to Heaven, that let you loose again. 

To practise deeds with torturing fire and steel 

No eye may search - no tongue may challenge or reveal \ 



CAMPBELL 8 POEMS. 



175 



ret laugh Qot in your carnival of crime, 

Too proudly, ye oppressors ! — Spain was free. 

Her soil has felt the foot-prmts, and her clime 

Been winnowed by the Agings of Liberty ; 

And these even parting scatter as they flee 

Thoughts — influences, to live in hearts unborn, 

Opinions that shall wrench the prison-key 

From Persecution — show h^r mask off-torn, 

And tramp her bloated head beneath the foot of Scorn, 

Glory to them that die in this great cause; 
Kings, Bigots, can inflict no brand of shame, 
Or shape of death, to shroud them from applause : — 
No ! — mangiers of the martjT's earthly frame ; 
Your hangman fingers can not touch his fame. 
StiQ in your prostrate land there shall be some 
Proud hearts, the shrines of Freedom's vestal flame. 
Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, dumb. 
But vengeance is beliind, and justice is to come- 



SONG OF THE GREEKa 

Again to the battle, Achaians ! 

Our hearts bid the tjTants defiance; 

O^r land, the first garden of Liberty's tree — 

It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free ; 

For the cross of our faith is replanted, 

The pale djdng crescent is daunted, 

And we march that the foot-prints of Mahomet's slaves 

May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' graves, 

Their spirits are hovering o'er us, 

And the sword shall to glory restore us. 



176 Campbell's pofms 

Ah ! what though no succor advances, 

Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances 

Are stretched in our aid — be the combat our own 

And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone; 

For we've sworn by our Country's assaulters. 

By the virgins they dragged fi-om our altars, 

By our massacred patriots, our children in chains, 

By our heroes of old, and their blood in oiu- veins. 

That, living, we shall be victorious, 

Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious. 

A breath of submission we breathe not ; 

The sword that we've drawn we will sheath not I 

Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid, 

And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. 

Earth may hide — waves inguK — fire consume us, 

But they shall not to slavery doom us : 

If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves ; 

But we've smote them already with fire on the waves^ 

And new triumphs on land are before us, 

To the charge ! — Heaven's baimer is o'er us. 

This day shall ye blush for its story, 

Or brighten your lives with its glory. 

Our women, oh, say, shaU they shriek in despair. 

Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair ? 

Accursed may his memory blacken, 

If a coward there be that would slacken 

1111 we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves 

worth 
Being sprung from and named for the godlike of earth. 
Strilce home and the wcrld shall revere us 
As heroes descended from heroes. 
Old Greece lightens up with emotion 
Her inlands, her isles of the Ocean : 
Fanes rebuilt and fair tol;\^lS shall with jubilee ring, 
And the Nine shall new-hallow their Helicon's spring 



Campbell's poems 17'/ 

Oiir hearths shall be Idndled in gladness, 

n.at were cold and extingiiished in sadnesa ; 

Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white- waving 

arms, 
Ringing joy to the brave that delivered their charms, 
When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens, 
^hall have piirpled the beaks of our ravens. 



ODE TO WINTER. 

When first the fiery-mantled sun 
His heavenly race began to nm ; 
Roimd the earth and ocetm blue 
His children foui-, the Seasons, flew. 
First, in green apparel dancing, 

The young Spring smiled Nvith angel grace; 
Rosy Summer next advancing. 

Rushed into her sire's embrace — 
Her bright-haired sire, who bade her keep 

For ever nearest to his smiles, 
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep, 

On India's citron- covered isles . 
More remote and buxom-brown, 

The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne, 
At rich pomegranate gemmed her crown, 

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 
But howling Winter fled afar, 
To hills that prop the polar star, 
And loves on deer-bome car to ride 
With barren Darkness by his side, 
Round the shore where loud Lofoden 

Whirls to death the roaring whale, 



1 78 C A JM r K E L L' S POEMS. 

Roimd the liall where Ruiiic Odin 

Howls his war-song to the gale ; 
Save A\'hen ado^\^l the ravaged globe 

He travels on his native storm, 
Deflowering Nature's grassy robe, 

Aaid trampling on her faded form ; 
Till Kght's returning lord assume 

The sliaft that drives him to his polar fieldt 
Of power to pierce liis raven plume 

And crystal-covered shield. 
Oh, sire of storms ! whose savage ear 
Tlie Lajiland drum delights to hear, 
%Mien Frenzy with her blood- shot eye 
Lnplores thy dreadful deity, 
Archangel ! power of desolation ! 

Fast descending as thou art, 
Say, hath mortal invocation 

Spells to touch thy stony heart ? 
Then sullen "\^'inter, hear my prayer, 
And gently rule the ruined year ; 
Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare, 
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear : 
To shiiddering Want's unman tied bed 
Thy horror- bi-eathing agues cease to lead, 
And gently on the orphan head 
Of innocence descend. — 

But cliiefiy spare, O king of clouds ! 
The sailor on liis airy shrouds ; 
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, 
And spectres walk along ike deep. 
Milder yet thy snowy breezes 

}*our on yonder tented shores. 
Where the llhine's broad billow freezes, 

Or the dark-browTi Danube roars. 
Oh, ^"jids of Winter ! list ye there 

To many a deep and dying groan 



Campbell's poems. 179 

Or start, ye demons of the imdnight air, 

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own, 

Alas ! eVn your unhallowed breath 
May spare the victim fallen low ; 

But man vrill ask no truce to death, 
No bounds to human wo.* 



LINES, 



Sl'OiEN BY MRS. BARTLET, AT DRURT-LANE THEATBB, OH 
THE FIRST OPEJaNG OP THE HOUSE AFTER THE DEATH 
OP THE PRIiiCESS CHARLOTTE, 1817. 

Britons ! although our task is but to show 

The scenes and passions of fictitious wo, 

Think not we come this night without a part 

In that deep sorrow of the public heart, 

AVhich like a shade hath darkened every place, 

And moistened with a tear the manliest face! 

The bell is scarcely hushed in Windsor's piles. 

That toUed a requiem from the solemn aisles, 

For her, the royal flower, low laid in dust, 

That was your fairest hope, your fondest trust. 

Unconscious of the doom, we dreamed, alas ! 

That eVn these walls, ere many months should pasa, 

Which but return sad accents for her now. 

Perhaps had witnessed her benignant brow, 

Cheered by the voice you would have raised on higo, 

In bursts of British love and loyalty. 

But, Britain ! now thy chief, thy people mourn. 

And Claremont's home of love is left forlorn : — 

• This ode was wriueii in Germany, al ihe close of 1800, before ^e 
eouclucion of ho^uiiiids 



]80 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS 



There, where the happiest of the happy dwelt. 

The 'scutcheon glooms, and royalty hath felt 

A wound that every bosom feels its own, — 

The blessing of a father's heart o'ertliro\vn — 

The most beloved and most devoted bride 

Tom from an agonized husband's side, 

Who, "long as Memory holds her seat," shall view 

That speechless, more than spoken, last adieu. 

When the fixed eye long looked connubial faith, 

And beamed affection in the trance of death. 

Sad was the pomp that yesternight beheld. 

As -witli the mourner's heart the anthem swelled ; 

Wliile torch succeeding torch illumed each high 

And bamiered arch of England's chivalry. 

The rich plumed canopy, the gorgeous pall, 

The sacred march, and sable-vested wall, — 

These were not rites of inexpressive show, 

But hallowed as the types of real wo ! 

Daughter of England ! for a nation's sighs, 

A nation's heart went with thine obsequies ! 

And oft shall time revert a look of grief 

On thine existence, beautifiil and brief. 

Fair spirit ! send thy blessing from above 

On realms where thou art canonized by love ! 

Give to a father's, husband's bleeding mind. 

The peace that angels lend to human-kind ; 

To us who in thy loved remembrance feel 

A sorrowing, but a soul- ennobling zeal — 

A loyalty that touches all the best 

And loftiest principles of England's breast! 

Still may thy name speak concord from the tomb — 

Still in the Muse's breath thy memory bloom I 

They shall describe thy life — thy form portray j 

But all the love that mourns thee swept away, 

'Tis not in language or expressive arts 

To paint — ye feel it, Britons, in your hearts I 



CAMPBELL'S P O E Of R 18] 



LINES ON THE GRAVi OF A STJICrDE. 

By strangers left upon a lonely shore, 
Uiikno\\Ta, nnlionored, was the friendless dead; 

For child to weep, or ■v\'idow to deplore, 
There never came to his tmburied head — 
All from liis dreary habitation fled. 

Nor will the lanterned fisherman at eve 
Launch on that water by the witches' tower, 

Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave 
Round its dark vaults a melanclioly bower 
For spirits of the dead at night's enchanted hour. 

They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate ! 

Whose crime it was, on Life's unfinished road, 
To feel the step-dame bufietings of fate, 

And render back thy being's heavy load. 

Ah ! once, perhaps, the social passions glowed 
In thy devoted bosom — and the hand 

That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone 
To deeds of mercy. "S\Tio may imder stand 

Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown ? — 
He who t}iy being gave shall judge of thee akma 
16 



182 Campbell's poems. 



KEULLURA.* 

Stab of the mom and eve, 

Reullura shone like thee, 
And well for her might Aodh grieve, 

The dark-attired Culdee. 
Peace to their shades ! the pure Culdeeb 

Were Albyn's earhest priests of God, 
Ere yet an island of her seas 

By foot of Saxon monk was trod, 
Long ere her churchmen by bigotry 
Were barred from wedlock's holy tie. 
'Twas then that Aodh, famed afar. 

In lona preached the word with powePj 
And Keullura, beauty's star. 

Was the partner of his bower. 

But, Aodh, the roof lies low. 

And the thistle-down waves bleaching, 
And the bat flits to and fro 

Where the Gael once heard thy preaching! 
And fallen is each columned aisle 

Where the chiefs and the people knelt. 
'Twas near that temple's goodly pUe 

That honored of men they dwelt ; 
For Aodh was wise in the sacred law, 
And bright ReuUura's eyes oft saw 

The veil of fate uplifted. 
4Ja8, yvith. what vicious of awe 

Her soul in that hour was gifted — 
When pale in the temple and faint, 

With Aodh she stood alone 

• Reullura, m Gaelic, signities "beautiful »tar ** 



Campbell's poems. 183 

By the statue of an aged Saint ! 

Fair sculptured was the stone — 
It bore a crucifix ; 

Fame said it once had graced 
A Chi-istian temple, wMch the Picta 

In the Britons' land laid waste: 
Tlie Pictish men, by St. Columb taught, 
Had hither the holy relic brought. 
Reulliira eyed tlie statue's face, 

And cried, ''It is, he shall come, 
Even he, in this very place, 

To avenge my mai-tyrdom. 

♦♦ For, wo to the Gael people ! 

Ulvfagre is on the main, 
And lona shall look from tower and steeple 

On the coming ships of the Dane; 
And, dames and daughters, shall all your locks 

With the spoiler's grasp entwine? 
No ! some shall have shelter in caves and rocks, 

And the deep sea shaU be mine. 
Ballled by me shall the Dane return, 
And here shaU liis torch bi the temple burn, 
Until that holy man shall plough 

The waves from Innisfail. 
His sail is on the deep e'en now, 
And swells to the southern gale." 



'« Ah ! knowest thou not, my bride," 

The holy Aodh said, 
"That the Saint whose form we stand beside 

Has for ages slept with the dead?" 
««He liveth, he liveth," she said again, 

" For the span of his life tenfold extends 
Beyond the wonted years of men. 

He sita by the graves of well-loved friends 



184 Campbell's poems. 

That died ere thy grandsire's grandsire's birth 
The oak is decayed with age on earth, 
Whose acorn-seed had been planted by him; 

And his parents remember the day of dread 
Wlien the sun on the cross looked dim, 

And the graves gave tip their dead. 
liTet preacliing from clime to clime, 

He hath roamed the earth for ages, 
And hither he shall come in time 

When the wrath of the heathen rages, 
In time a remnant from the sword — 

Ah ! but a remnant to deliver ; 
Yet, blest be the naine of the Lord! 

His martjTS shall go into bliss for ever. 
Lochlin,* appalled, shall put up her steel, 
And thou shalt embark on the bounding keel ; 
Safe shalt thou pass through her hundred ship« 

With the Samt and a remnant of the Gadl, 
And the Lord an-lU instruct thy lips 

To preach in Linisfail."t 

The sun, now about to set, 

Was burning o'er Tiree, 
And no gathering cry rose yet 

O'er the isles of Albyn's sea, 
Whilst Reullura saw far rowers dip 

Their ojirs beneath the sun. 
And the phantom of many a Danish ship 

WTiere sliip there yet was none. 
And the shield of alarm was dumb. 
Nor did their warning till midnight come, 
When watch-fires burst from across the main 

From Rona, and XJist, and Skye 
To tell that the ships of the Dane 

And the red-hjiired slayers were nigh. 

• Deiimart- f Irelacd 



CAMPBELL a POEMS 185 

ChiT ifile-men arose from slumbers. 

And buckled on their arms ; 
But few, alas ! were their ^numbers 

In Loclilin's mailed 8wann«« 
And the blade of the bloody Norse 

Has fiUcd the shores of the Gael 
With many a floating corse, 

And mth many a woman's wail. 
They have lighted the islands with ruin's torch, 
And the holy men of lona's church 
In the temple of God lay slain ; 

AH but Aodh, the last Culdee, 
But bound •with many an iron chain, 

Bound in that church was he. 
And where is Aodh's bride r 

Rocks of the ocean flood ! 
Plunged she not from youj heiglits in pride, 

And mocked the men of blood ? 
Then XJlvfagre and his bands 

In the temple lighted their banquet up, 
And the print of their blood-red hands 

Was left on the altar cup. 
'Twas then that the. Norseman to Aodh said, 
" Tell where thy church's treasure's laid, 
Or I'll hew thee limb from limb." 

As he spoke the bell struck three, 
And every torch grew dim 

Tliat hghted their revelry. 

But the torches again burnt bright, 

And brighter than before, 
When an aged man of majestic height 

Entered the temple door. 
Hushed was the revellers' sound, 

Tliey were struck as mute as the dead, 
And their hearts were appalled by the very soxmd 

Of his footsteps' meastu-ed tread. 
16* 



156 CAMPBELL'S POEMB 

Nor "word was spoken by one beholder, 

While he flvmg his white robe back o'er his shovildar^ 

And stretching his arms — as each 

TJnriveted Aodh's bands, 
As if the gyves had been a wreath 

Of willows in his hands. 

All saw the stranger's similitude 

To the ancient statue's form; 
The Saint before his own image stood, 

And grasped Uh^agre's arm. 
Then uprose the Banes at last to deliver 

Their cliief, and shouting with one accord. 
They drew the shaft from its rattling quiver, 

They lifted the spear and sword, 
And levelled their spears in rows ; 
But down went axes, and spears, and bows, — 
When the Saint with his crosier signed, 

The archer's hand on the string was stopped, 
And do^v^l, like reeds laid flat by the wind. 

Their lifted weapons dropped. 
The Saint then gave a signal mute, 

And though Ulvfagre willed it not, 
He came and stood at the statue's foot, 

Spell-riveted to the spot, 
Till hands invisible shook the wall. 

And the tottering image was dashed 
Down from its lofty pedestal. 

On Ulvfagre's helm it crashed — 
Helmet, and skull, and flesh, and brain, 
It crushed as millstones crush the grain. 
Then spoke the Saint, whilst all and each. 

Of the Heathen trembled roxmd. 
And the pauses amidst his speech 

Were as awful as the sound : 

<* Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," he cried, 
•*And tell the nations abroad, 



OAMPBELIi'S POEMS. 187 

How the fiercest of your herd has died 

That slaughtered the flock of God 
Gather him bone by bone, 

And take vrith you o'er the flood 
The fragments of that avenging stone 

That dranlc his heathen blood. 
These are the spoils from lona's sack, 

The only spoils ye shall carry back; 
For the hand that uplifteth spear or sword 

Shall be withered by palsy's shock, 
And 1 come in the name of the Lord 

To deliver a remnant of his flock." 

A remnant was called together, 

A doleful remnant of the Ga«l, 
And the Saint in the ship that had brought him hitter 

Took the mourners to Innisfail. 
Unscathed they left lona's strand, 

When the opal morn first flushed the sky, 
For the Norse dropped spear, and bow, and brand, 

And looked on them silently ; 
Safe from their hiding-places came 
Orphans and mothers, child and dame : 
But, alas ! when the search for Reullura sprpad, 

No answering voice was given, 
For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head. 

And her spirit was in Heaven. 



ISS Campbell's fosmb 



THE TURKISH LADY. 

TVas th.e hour -wlien rites unholy 
Called each Paynim voice to prayot; 

And the star that faded slowly 
Left to dews the freshened air. 

Day her sultry fires had wasted, 

Calm and sweet the moonlight rofee > 

Ev'n a captive spirit tasted 
Half oblivion of his woes. 

Then 'twas from an Emir's palace 
Came an Eastern lady bright ; 

8he, in spite of tyrants jealous, 
Saw and loved an English knight. 

"Tell me, captive, why in anguish 
Foes have dragged thee here to dwell. 

Where poor Cliristians as they languish 
Hear no soimd of Sabbath bell?" — 

" 'Twas on Transylvania's Bannat, 
When the Crescent shone afar, 

Like a pale disastrous planet 
O'er the purple tide of war — 

" In that day of desolation, 

Lady, I was captive made ; 
Bleeding for my Chrisxian nation 

By the walls of high Belgrade/' 

♦* Captive ! coidd the brightest jewd 
From my turban set thee free ? " 



Campbell's pofms. 189 

•* Lady, no ! — the gift were cruel, 
Ransomed, yet if reft of th.ee. 

** Say, fair princess ! would it grieve thee 
Christian climes should we behold ? " — 

" Nay, bold knight ! I would not leave thee 
Were thy ransom paid in gold ! " 

Now in Heaven's blue expansion 

Rose the midnight star to ^dew, 
Whien to quit her father's mansion 

Thrice she wept, and bade adieu i 

" Fly we then, while none discover ! 

Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride ! " 
Soon at Rhodes the British lover 

Clasped his blooming Eastern bride. 



THE BRAVE ROLAND. 

The brave Roland ! — the brave Roland ! — 
False tidings reached the Rhenish strand. 

That he had fallen in fight; 
And thy faithful bosom swooned with paia, 
O loveliest maiden of Allemayne ! 

For the loss of thine o-wti true knigkt 

But why so rash has she ta'en the veil. 
In yon Nonncnwerder's cloisters pale ? 

For her vow had scarce been sworn. 
And the fatal mantle o'er her fixing, 
"When the Drachenfels to a trumpet rung — 

'Twas her own dear warrior's hem 



190 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 

Wo ! wo ! each heart shall bleed — shall bzeak ! 
She would have hung upon his neck 

Had he come but yester-even ; 
And he had clasped those peerless charms 
That shall never, never fill his arms, 

Or meet him but in heaven. 

Yet Roland the brave — Roland the true — 
He could not bid that spot adieu ; 

It was dear still 'midst his woes ; 
For he loved to breathe the neighboring air, 
And to think she blessed him in her prayer, 

WTien the Halleluiah rose. 

There's yet one window of that pile, 
Which he built above the Nun's green isle 

Thence sad and oft looked he 
(When the chant and organ sounded slow 
On the mansion of his love below, 

For herself he might not see. 

She died ! — he sought the battle-plain ; 
Her image filled his dying brain, 

When he fell and wished to fall; 
And her name was in his latest sigh, 
When Roland, the flower of ch'valry, 

Expired at Roncevall. 



Campbell's poems l&J 



THE SPECTRE BOAT. 

A BALLAD. 

Light rued false Ferdinand to leave a lovely maid for- 
lorn, 

Who broke her heart and died to hide her blualiing 
cheek from scorn. 

One night he dreamed he woo'd her in their -wonted 
bower of love, 

Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the 
birds sang sweet above. 

But the scene was s\s-iftly changed into a churchyard's 
dismal view. 

Ajid h?r lips grew black beneath his kiss, from love's 
dehciotis hue. 

What more he dreamed, he told to none ; but shudder- 
ing, pale, and diunb, 

Looked out upon the waves, like one that knew hia 
hour Avas come. 

Pwas now the dead watch of the night - the helm waa 

laslied a-lee, 
And the ship rode where MoTint ^tna lights the deep 

Levantine sea ; 
When beneath its glare a boat came, rowed by a woman 

in her shroud, 
Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood ap 

and spoke aloud -• — 

" Come, Traitor, down, for whom my ghost still w*"^ders 

unforgiven ! 
Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I brol my 

peace ^-ith heaven I " 



192 CAMPBELL S P0EM8. 

It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to meet 

her call, 
Like the bh'd that shrieks and flutters in the gazing 

serpent's ihrall. 

You may tjuess tlie boldest mariner shjrunk daunted 

from tlie sight, 
For the Spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with 

hideous light ; 
Like a fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of 

her hand, 
And round they went, and do^^Ti they went, as tlie 

cock crew from the land. 



SONG. 



Oh, how hard it is to find 

The one just suited to owe mind ; 

And if that one should be 
False, unkind, or found too late, 
What can we do but sigh at fate, 

And sing Wo's me — Wo's me ! 

Love's a boundless burning waste, 
"Where Bliss's stream we seldom taste, 

And still more seldom flee 
Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings; 
Yet somehow Love a something briiigs 

That's sweet — even when we sigh '< Wo's me I 



campbell'8 poems 193 



THE LOVER TO HIS AHSTRESS 

ON HER BIRTH -DAY. 

If any white-winged Power above 

My joj'S and griefs sxir\-ey, 
The day when thou wert bom, my love- 

He surely blessed that day. 

1 laughed (till taught by thee) when toU: 

Of Beauty's magic powers, 
That ripened Hfe's dull ore to gold, 

And changed its weeds to liowers. 

My mind had lovely shapes portrayed; 

But thought I eiu-th had one 
Could make even Fancy's visions fade 

Like stars before the sun? 

£ gazed, and felt upon my lips 
The unfinished accents hang : 

One moment's bliss, one burning kiss 
To rapture changed each pang. 

And though as swift as lightning's fla&)i 

Those tranced moments flew, 
Not all the waves of time shall wash 

Their memory from my view. 

But duly shall my raptured song, 

And gladly shall my eyes 
Still bless this day's return, as long 

As tliou shalt see it rise. 
17 



19i OAMPBSLIi'g rOMMS. 



ADELGITHA. 

Thb ordeal's fatal tirunpet sounded, 

Ajid sad pale Adeloitka came. 
'V^Tien forth a valiant cham]>ion hounded, 

And slew the slajiderer of her fiuue. 

She wept, delivered from her danger ; 

But -when he knelt to claim her glove - - 
*' Seek not," she cried, " oh ! gallant stranger, 

For hapless Adelgitha's love. 

**ror he is in a foreign far laud 

■\\Tiose ami should now have set me free; 
And I must wear the willow garland 

For him that's dead, or false to me." 

♦• Nay ! say not that his faith is tainted ! " •— 
He raised his visor — At the sight 

She fell into his arms and fainted : 
It was indeed her own true knight I 



LINES 



OM RBOBIVINO A SEAL WITH THB CAMPBELL CKE8T, S'iiO* 
K. M — , BEPOIIE HER MAIUIIAQE. 

This wax returns not back more fair 
Th' impression of the gift you send, 

Than stamped upon my thoughts I bear 
The image of your worth, my friend! 



<; A M P B E L L ' S P O F. :\T -^ . 195 

We are not friends of yesterday ; — 

But poets' fancies are a little 
Disposed to heat and cool, (they say,) — 

By turns impressible and brittle. 

Well ! should its frailty e'er condemn 
My heart to prii:e or please you less, 

Yoiir type is still the sealing gem, 
And mitie the waxen brittleness. 

What transcripts of ray weal and wo 

This little signet yet may lock, — 
What utterances to friend or foe, 

In reason's calm or passion's shock I 

What scenes of life's yet curtained page 

May own it<? confidential die, 
Wliose stamp awaits th' unwritten page. 

And feelings of futurity ! — 

Yet wheresoe'er my pen I lift 

To date the epistolary sheet, 
The blest occasion of the gift 

Shall make its recollection sweet ; 

Sent when the star that rules your fates 
Hath reached its influence most benign — » 

Wlien every heart congratulates, 

And none more cordially than mine. 

So speed my song — marked with the cre«f 
Tliat erst the advent'rous Norman wore, 

"V^Tio won the Lady of the West, 
The daughter of ^^lacaillan Mor. 

Crest of my sires ! wliose blood it sealed 
With gloxy in the strife of swords, 



106 Campbell's pof. bis. 

Ne'er may the scroll that bears it yield 
Degenerate thoughts or faithless words I 

Yet little might I prize the stone, 
If it but typed the feudal tree 

From whence, a scattered leaf, I'm blo-wa 
In Fortune's mutability. 

No ! — but it tells me of a heart 
Alhed by friendship's living tie ; 

A prize beyond the herald's art — 
Our soul-sprung consanguinity ! 

K-&.th'kine ! to many an hour of mine 
Light wings and sunsliine you have lentj 

And so adieu, and still be thine 
The all-in-all of life ■— Content I 



THE DIEGE OF WALLACE. 

TiiET lighted a taper at the dead of night. 

And chanted their holiest hymn ; 
But her brow and her bosom were damp -svith aifri^ht -* 

Her eye was all sleepless and dim ! 
And the lady of Elderslie wept for her lord, 

When a death-watch beat in her lonely ron;n, 
When her curtain had shook of its owti accord, 
Ajid the raven had flapped at her wiiidow-bi>iir<l — 

To tell of her warrior's doom. 

" Now, sing ye the death-song, and loudly praj 

For the soul of my kiiight so dear ; 
And call me a widow tlus wretched dajj 

Since the wandng of God is here. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 197 

For a mghtmare rides on my strangled sleep : — 
Tlie lord of my bosom is doomed to die ; 

FTis valorous heart they have wounded deep ; 

And the blood-red tears shall his country weep 
For Wallace of Elderslie ! " 

Yet knew not liis country that ominous hour, 

Ere the loud matin bell was rung, 
ITiat a trimipet of death on an EngUsh tower 

Had the dirge of her champion simg ! 
When his dungeon hght looked dim and red 

On the high-bom blood of a martyr slain, 
No anthem was sung at his holy death-bed ; 
No Aveeping there was when his bosom bled — 

And his heart was rent in twain ! 

Oh, it was not thus when his oaken spear 

Was true to that knight forlorn, 
And hosts of a thousand were scattered, like deer 

At the blast of the hunter's honi; 
Wlien he strode on the wreck of each well-fought fiel3 

With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land ; 
For his lance was not shivered on helmet or shield — 
And the sword that seemed fit for Archangel to wield 

AVas light in his terrible hand ! 

Yet bleeding and bound, though the Wallace -wight 

For his long-loved country die, 
Tlie bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight 

Tlian William of Elderslie ! 
But the day of his glory shall never depart ; 

His head unontomhed shall >\-ith glory be palmed J 
From its blood streaming altar Ids spirit shall «t!irt; 
Though the raven lias fed on his mouldering heart, 

A nobler was never embalmed ! 
17» 



198 CAMPBELL'S POE 



CHATTCER AND WINDSOR. 

Ix)ico slialt thou jlourish, Windsor ! bodying forth 

Chi-valrio times, and long shall live around 

Thy Castle — the old oaks of British birth, 

Whose knarled roots, tenacious and profound, 

A3 with a lion's talons grasp the ground. 

But should thy towers in ivied ruin rot, 

There's one, thine iiunate once, whose strain renowned 

Would mterdict thy name to be forgot ; 

For Chaucer loved thy bowers and trode this very spot. 

Chaucer ! our Helicon's lirst fountain-stream, 

Our morning star of song — that led the way 

To welcome the long-after coming beam 

Of Spenser's light and Shakspeare's perfect day. 

Old England's fathers live in Chaucer's lay, 

As if they ne'er had died. He grouped and drew 

Their likeness vnth a spirit of life so gay, 

That still they live and breathe in Fancy's view, 

Fresh beings fra ight with truth's imperishable hue 



GH^DEROY. 



The last, the fatal hoTU is come, 
That bears my love from me : 

1 hear the dead note of the drum, 
I mark the gallows' tree ! 

The bell has toU'd ; it shakes my heart; 
The trumpet speaks thy name; 



C A H r 15 E L L* s r O E M s. 199 

Aiid must my Gildcroy depart 
To bear a death of shame ? 

No bosom trembles for thy doom; 

No mourner wipes a tear ; 
The gallows' foot is all thy tomb, 

Tlie sledge is all thy bier. 

Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then 

So aoon, so sad to part, 
Wlieu first in Koslin's loTcly glen 

You txiumpli'd o'er my heait? 

Your locks they glitter'd to the shean, 

Your hunter garb was trim ; 
And graceful wtis the riband green 

That boimd your manly limb ! 

A-h ! little thought I to deplore 

Those limbs in fetters bound; 
Or hear upon the scaffold floor, 

The midnight hammer sound. 

Ye cruel, cruel, tliat combined 

The giultless to pursue ; 
My Gilderoy was ever kind, 

He coudd not injiire you. 

A long adieu ! but where shall fly 

Thy widow all forlorn, 
When every mean and cruel eye 

Regards my woe with scorn? 

Yes tliey \\dll mock thy widow's tears. 

And hate thy on^han boy ; 
Alas ! his infant beauty wears 

The form of Gilderoy. 



200 CAMPBELLS P0EM8. 

Then ^ill I ^ek the dreary mooixj^ 
That wraps thy mouldering clay, 

And weep and linger on the groiuid. 
And sigh my heart away. 



STANZAS, 

ON THE THREATENED INVASION, 1803. 

Ottb bosoms we'll bare for the glorious strife, 

Ar.d o\ir oath is recorded on high, 
To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life 

Or crushed in its ruins to die ! 
Tlien rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the rigat haad« 
And swear to prevail in your dear native land! 

'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to out trust — 
God bless the green Isle of the brave ! 

Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust, 
It would rouse the old dead from their grave ! 

Ther rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand, 

And swear to prevail in your dear native land ! 

In a 13riton's sweet home shall a spoiler abide, 

Profaning its loves and its charms r 
Shall a Frenchman insult the loved fair at our side ? 

To arms ! oh, my Country, to anns ! 
Then rise, fellow freemen, and strctcli the right hantl 
And swear to prevail in your dear native land! 

Shall a tyrant enslave us, my countrymen ! — No I 
Hi» head to the sword shall be given — 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. "01 

A death-bed repentance be taught the proud foe. 

And his blood be an offering to Heaven ! 
Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand, 
And swear to prevail in your dear native land . 



THE PwITTER BANN. 

The Ritter Bann from Hungary 
Came back, reno^vned in arms, 

But scorning joxists of chivalry, 
And love and ladies' charms. 

Wh.i]e other knights held revels, he 
Was MTapped in thoughts of gloom. 

And in Vienna's hostelrie 
Slow paced his lonely room. 

There entered one whose face he knew 
Whose voice, he was awiu-e, 

He oft at mass had listened to, 
In the holy house of prayer. 

'Twas the Abbot of St. James's monks, 

A fresh and fair old man : 
His reverend air arrested even 

The gloomy Ritter Bann. 

But seeing -^^ath him an ancient dama 

Come clad in Scotch attixe. 
The Ritter' 8 color went and came, 

And loud he spoke in ire. 



202 CAMPBELL g POEMS. 

" Ha ! nurse of her that was my baneu 

Name not her name to me ; 
1 -wish it blotted from my brain: 

Art poor ? — take alms, and flee." 

"Sir Knight," the Abbot interposed, 
" This case your ear demajicls ; " 

And the crone cried, with a cross enclosed- 
In both her trembling hands: — 

♦* Remember, each his sentence waits; 

And he that shall rebut 
Sweet Mercy's suit, on him the gates 

Of Mercy shall be shut. 

"You wedded, imdispensed by Church, 
Your cousin Jane m Spring ; — 

In Autumn, when you went to search 
For Churchmen's pardoning, 

"Her house denounced your marriage-band. 

Betrothed her to De Grey, 
And the ring you put upon her hand 

Was wrenched by force away. 

"Then wept your Jane upon my neck. 

Crying, *Help me, nurse, to flee 
To my Howel Bann's Glamorgan hills ; ' 

But word arrived — ah me ! — 

•*You were not there; and 'twas thoii threali 

By foul means or by fair. 
To-morrow morning was to set 

The seal on her despair. 

"I had a son, a sea-boy, in 
A ship at Hartland Bay j 



Campbell's poems. 203 

jrfy tiL jid from her cruel kin 
1 itiy my bird away. 

**To Scotland from the Devon's 

Green myrtle shores we fled ; 
And the Hand that sent the ravena 

To Elijah, gave us bread. 

"She wrote you by my son, but he 

From Engluad sent us word 
You had gone mto some far countrie. 

In grief and gloom he heard. 

♦• For they thaV wronged you, to elude 

Your wTath, ilefamed my child ; 
And you — ay, blush, Sir, as you should-* 

Believed, and were beguiled. 

*To die but at your feet, she vowed 

To roam the world ; and we 
Would both have sped and begged our breadi 

liut so it might not be: 

* For when the snow-storm beat our roo^ 

She bore a boy. Sir Bann, 
Who grew as fair your likeness proof 

As child e'er grew like man. 

** 'T^'as smiling on that babe one mom, 
WTiile health bloomed on the moor. 

Her beauty struck young Lord Kinghom 
As he hunted past our door. 

" She shunned him, but he raved of Jane* 

And roused his mother's pride : 
Wlio came to \is in liigh disdain, — 

' And where' 8 the face,' she cried, 



204 Campbell's poems. 

" • Has M-itched my boy to wish for one 

So -wTetclied for his wife ? — 
Dost love thy husband ? Know, mj soa 

Has sworn to seek his life.* 

"Her anger sore dismayed us, 
For our mite was wearing scant, 

And, unless that dame would aid ua, 
There was none to aid our want. 

*♦ So I told her, weeping bitterly, 
What all our woes had been ; 

And, though she was a stern ladie. 
The tears stood in her een. 

"And she housed us both, when, cheerfally 

My cluld to her had sworn. 
That even if made a widow, she 

Would never wed Kinghom." 

Here paused the nurse, and then began 

The Abbot, standing by : — 
** Three months ago a wounded man 

To our abbey came to die. 

"He heard me long, with ghastly eyes 

And hand obdurate clenched. 
Speak of the worm that never dies, 

And tlie fire that is not quenched. 

" At last by what this scroll attests 

He left atonement brief, 
For years of anguish to the breasts 

Hi a guilt had wrung with grief. 

"♦There Hved,' he said, «a fair young dame 
Beneath my mother's roof; 



CAMFBKf. l's poems. 205 

I loved her, but against my flame 
Her purity was proof. 

"'I feigned repentance, friendship p\ue} 

That mood -she did not check, 
But let her husband's miniature 

Be copied from her neck, 

** ♦ As means to search him ; my deceit 

Took care to him was borne 
Nought but his picture's counterfeit, 
And Jane's reported scorn. 

** * The treachery took : she waited wild ; 

My slave came back and lied 
Whate'er I -wished ; she clasped her child. 

And swooned, and all but died. 

** • I felt her teara, for years and years. 

Quench not my flame, but stur ; 
The very hate 1 bore her mate 

Increased my love for her. 

** * Fame told tis of hi.s glory^ while 

Joy flushed the face of Jane ; 
And wliile she blessed his name, her smile 

Stru-i tire into my brain. 

** ' No fears could damp ; I reached the camp, 

Sought out its champion ; 
And if my broad-sword failed at last, 

'Twas long and well laid on. 

»« ♦ This wound's my meed, ray name's Kinghoin, 

My foe's the Rittcr Bann.' 

The wafer to his lij^s was bonie, 

And Me sluived the dying man. 
18 



206 CAiMTBELL 8 P O E M ft. 

"He died not till you went to fight 

The Turks at Warradein; 
But I see my telle has clianged you pale. ' — 

The Abbot went for ^vine ; 

And brought a little page who pomed 

It out, and knelt and smiled ; — 
The siuj^ned knight saw himself restored 

To childhood in his child; 

And stooped and caught him to his breast, 

Laughed loud and wept anon, 
And with a shower of kisses pressed 

The darling Uttle one. 

" And where went Jane ? " — "To a nunnery, Sir — 

Look not again so pale — 
Kinghom's old dame grew harsh to her. " 

•• And she has ta'en the veil ! " — 

" Sit down. Sir," said the priest, " I bar 
Rash words." — They sat all three, 

And tlie boy played with the knight's broad stax 
As ho kept him on his knee. 

"Think ere you ask her dweUing-pla<;e," 

ITie Abbot further said ; 
*« Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face 

More deep than cloister's shade. 

** Grief may have made her what you cais 

Scarce love perhaps for life." 
•'Hush, Abbot," cried the Ritter Bann, 

" Or tell me where's my T\Tfe." 

The priest undid two doors that hid 
The inn's adjacent room, 



C A M P B F. I. L ' S POEMS. 2(/7 

And there a lovely woman stood, 
Tears bathed her beauty's bloom. 

One moment may with bliss repay 

Unnumbered hours of pain ; 
Such was the throb and mutual sob 

Of the Knight embracing Jane. 



80XG. 

" MEN OF ENGLAND." 

Men of England ! who inherit 

Rights tliat cost your sires their blood { 
Men whose undegenerate spirit 

Has been proved on field and flood : — 

By the foes you've fought uncounted, 
By the glorious deeds you've done. 

Trophies captured — breaches mounted, 
Navies conquered — kingdoms won ! 

Yet, reraember, England gathers 
Hence but frtdtless wreaths of fame, 

If the freedom of your fathers 

Glow not in your hearts the same. 

What are monuments of bravery, 
Where no pubhc virtues bloom? 

What avail in lands of slavery, 
lYophied temples, arch, and tomb? 



208 CAMPB EhL S FOE Ma. 

Pageants ! — Let the world revere us 
For oiir people's rights and laws, 

And the breasts of civic heroes 
Bared in Freedom's holy cause. 

Yoiirs are Hampden's, Riissell's gloryj 
Sidney's matchless shade is yours,-* 

MartjTS in heroic story, 

Worth a hundred Agincouxts ! 

We're the sons of sixes that baffled 
Crowned and mitred tjnranny ; — 

They defied the field and scaffold 
For their birthrights — so will we I 



SONG. 



Drink ye to her that each loves best. 

And if you nurse a flame 
That's told but to her mutual breast, 

We will not ask her name. 

Enough, while memory tranced and glad 

Pamts silently the fair, 
That each should dream of joys he's had, 

Or yet may hope to share. 

Yet far, far hence be jest or boast 
From hallowed thoughts so dear; 

But drink to her that each loves most. 
As she would love to hear. 



THE HARPER. 

Oi» the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah yr^a nigh, 

N ) blithe Irish lad was so happy as I ; 

Nc harp like my ovra conld so cheerily play, 

Ajad wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. 

Wlicn at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part. 
She said, (while the soitow was big at her heart,) 
Oh ! remember your Sheelah when far, far away ; 
Ajid be kind, my dear Pat, to onr poor dog Tray. 

Poor dog ! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, 
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor ; 
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, 
I had always a fidend in my poor dog Tray. 

When the road was so dark, and the night ' us so cold 
And Pat and Ms dog were groA\Ti weary and old. 
How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray. 
And he licked me for kindnees — my poor dog Tray. 

Tliough my wallet ■^♦•as scant, I remembered his case, 
Nor reftised re j last crust to his pitiful face ; 
But he 6'^i.l at my feet on a cold winter day, 
Ajid ^ played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. 

\Vhere now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? 
Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind ? 
To my sweet native village, so far, far away, 
I can never more retm-n with my poor dog Tray 
18* 



210 CAMi' bell's POKMg 



THE WOUNDED HUSSAE: 

Alone, to the baiiks of the dark-rolling Danube, 
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er : 

«■ Oh whither," she cried, " hast thou wandeted, my Lver, 
Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore? 

*♦ What voice did I hear ? — 'twas my Henry that sighed ! * 
All mournful she hastened, nor wandered she far, 

WTien, bleeding and low, on the heath she descried, 
By the light of the moon, her poor womided Hussar 1 

From his bosom that heaved, the last torrent was stream- 
ing, 

And pale was his visage, deep marked T^dth a scar ! 
And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, 

That melted in love, and that kindled in Ax-ar ! 

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight ! 

How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war ! 
•♦Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful 
night. 

To cheer the lone heart of youi wounded Hussar i " 

'^'Thou shalt live," she replied, "Heaven's mercy r©« 

lieving 
Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn I " 
"Ah, no ! the last pang of my bosom is heaving ! 
No light of the mom shall to Henry retiurn ! 

"Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! 

Ye babes of my love, that await me afar ! " — 
His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu, 

When he stmk m her arms — the poor wounded Hussar I 



OA51 PBEiVS POEMS. 211 

LOVE AND MADNESS. 

AN ELEGY. --AirKITTEN IN 1795. 

Hark! from tlie battlements of yonder tower* 
The solemn bell has tolled the midnight hour ! 
Roused from drear visions of distempered sleep, 
Poor 13 k wakes — in soHtude to weep ! 

"Cease, Memory, cease (the friendless mourner ctied] 
To probe the bosom too severely tried ! 
Oh ! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray 
Through the bright fields of Fortune's better day, 
"When youthful Hove, the music of the mind, 
Tuned all its charms, and E n was kind ! 

"Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frasne, 

In siglis to speak thy melancholy name ? 

I hear thy spirit wail in every storm ! 

In midnight shades I ■v'iew thy passing form ! 

Pale as in that sad hour when doomed to feel. 

Deep in thy perjured heart, the bloody steel ! 

" Demons of Vengeance ! ye at whose command 
I grasped the sword -with more than woman's hfind, 
Say ye, did Pit^^'s trembling voice Control, 
Or horror dam]) the purpose of ray soul ? 
No ! my vrild heart sat smiling o'er the plan. 
Till Hate fulfilled what baffled Love began I 

" Yes ; let the clay-cold breast that nt^ver knew 
One tender pang to generous Nattire true, 

* Warwick CasUe. 



212 C A M I> B E L L ' S P O Jf M S . 

Half-minglLrig pity -with tke giiil of scorn, 
Condemn tins heart, that bled in love ir^rlom ! 

" And yc, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms, 
Save Rapture's homage to your conscious chaini:* 1 
Delighted idols of a gaudy train, 
m can your blunter feelings guess the pain, 
Whe7\ the fond faithful heart, inspii-ed to prove 
Friendship refined, tlie calm delight of Love, 
Feels all its tender strings -v\-ith anguish torn, 
And bleeds at perjured Pride's inhuman scorn ! 

"Say, then, did pit.^-ing Heaven condemn the deei, 
When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover ! bleed ? 
Long had I watched thy dark foreboding brow, 
What time thy bosom scorned its dearest vow ! 
Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover changed. 
Still thy cold look was scornful and estranged. 
Till from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, 
I wandered hopeless, friendless, and alone ! 

" Oh ! righteous Heaven ! 'twas then my tortured sou 

First gave to wrath unlimited control ! 

Adieu the silent look ! the streaming eye ! 

The murmured plaint ! the deep heart-lieaving sigh ! 

Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to better deeds ; 

He shrieks, he falls, the perjured lover bleeds ! 

Now the last laugh of agony is o'er. 

And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more ! 

" 'T"^s done ! the flame of hate no longer bunis : 
Nature relents, but, ah ! too late returns ! 
"Wliy does my soiil this gush of fondness feel ? 
Trembimg and faint, I drop the guilty steel! 
Cold on m.y heart the hand of terror Hes, 
And shades of honor close my languid eyes I 



Campbell's pOEms. 213 

"Oil! 'tAvas a deed of Murder's deei)e8t grain! 

Could B k's soul so true to -wTath remain? 

A friend long true, a once fond lover fell ! — 
Where Love was fostered could not Pity dwell ? 

" Unhappy youth ! wldie yon pale crescent glows 
To watch on sUeiit Nature's deep repose, 
Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb, 
Foretells my fate, and summons me to come I 
Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand, 
Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand I 

** Soon may this fluttering spark of -vital flarne 
Forsake its languid melancholy frame ! 
Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close, 
Welcome the dreamless night of long repose ! 
Soon may this wo-wom spuit seek the boiirne 
Wliere, lulled to slumber. Grief forgets to nioum I ** 



HALLOWED GROUND. 

What's, hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its Maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
TJnscourged by Superstition's rod. 

To bow the knee? 

That's hallowed ground — where, mourned, and missed 
The lips repose our love has kissed : — 
But Where's their memory's mansion? Is't 

Yon churchyard's bowers 1 
No I in ourselves their souls exis^ 

A part of ours. 



214 c A M n; t; 1. Ti' s r o i" ai p. 

A Uis9 can consecrate the ground 

"WlatTe mated hearts are mutual bound : 

The spot where love's first links were wound. 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallowed down to eartli's profound, 

And up to Heaven ! 

For time niak,es all but true love old ; 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Run molten still in memory's mould; 

And will not cool, 
TJntLl the iieart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap I 
In dews that heaveixs far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom; 
Or Genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb: 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has served mankind—" 

And is he dead, whose glorious mind 

Lifts tliine on high ? — 
To live in hearts Ave leave behind, 

Is not to die. 

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight 

The sword he draws : — 
\Vhat can alone emioble fight? — 

A noble cause ! 

Give that? and welcome War to braco 

Her drums ! and rend Heaven's reekiixg space ' 



Campbell'? poems. 215 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer, 
Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, 

Shall still be dear. 

And place our trophies where men kneel 
To Heaven ! — but Heaven rebukes my zeal ! 
The cause of Truth and hiunan weal, 

God above ! ' 

Transfer it from the sword's appeal 

To Peace and Love. 

Peace ! Love ! the cherubim that join 
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine, 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, 

Where they are not — 
The heart alone can make di%Tiie 

Religion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust. 
And pompous rites in domes august? 
See mouldering stones and metal's ruBt 

Belie the vaunt, 
That men can bless one pile of dust 

With chime or chant. 

The ticking wood- worm mocks thee, man ! 
The temples — creeds themselves, grow wan I 
But there's a dome of nobler spaa, 

A temple given 
Thy fiiith, that bigots dare not ban — 

Its space is Heaven ! 

Its roof star-pictured Nattire's ceihusf, 
Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling, 
And God himself to man revealing, 
The harmonious spheres 



216 Campbell's pokws 

Make imisie, though uiiheaxd their pealing 
By mortal eai-s. 

Fur stars ! are not your beings pure? 
Can siji, can deatix your worlds obscure? 
Else why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above r 
Ye must be Heavens that make us sure 

Of heavenly love ! 

And in your harmony sublime 
I read tlie doom of distant time ; 
Tliat man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn, 
And reason on his mortal clime 

Immortal dawn. 

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth 
IV) sHv-^red thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Peace ! Independence I IVuth ! go forth 

Earth's compass roimd ; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 

All hallcnced ground. 



SONQ. 



WrrHDHAW not yet those lips and ttngers 
Whose touch to mine is rapture's spell ; 

Life's joy for us a moment lingers, 

And death seems in the word — ParewelL 

The hour that bids us part and go, 

It soimds not yet, — oh ! no, no, no I 



Campbell's poems. 217 

Time, wliilst I gaze upon thy sweetneas, 
Flies like a coiu^er nigh tlic goal ; 

To-morrow where shall be his fleetness, 
"When thou art parted from my soul? 

Out hearts shall, beat, our tears shall fiowt 

But not together, — no, uo, no I 



CAHOLINE. 



PART 



I'll bid the hyacinth to blow, 
I'll teach my grotto green to be; 

Ajid smg lay true love, all below 
I'he hoUy bower and mjTtle tree. 

I'here all Ids \vdld-wood sweets to brings 
The sweet south ^ind shall wander by, 

And with the miLsic of his wing 
Delight my rustling canopy. 

Come to rry close and clustering bo wet 
Thou spirit of a milder climo, 

Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower, 
Of movuitaiii heath, and moorj' thyme. 

With all thy rural echoes come, 
Sweet comrade of the rosy day, 

Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum. 
Or cuckon's plaintive roundelay, 
19 



21S CAMPBELL 'S POEMS. 

Where'er thy morrung breath has playe<i, 

"VSTiatever isles of ocean fanned, 
Come to my blossom- woven shade, 

Thou wandeiing wiiad of fairy-land. 

For sure, from some enchanted isle, 

Where Heaven and Love their sabbath bold, 

Where pure and happy spirits smile. 
Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould : 

From some green Eden of the deep, 
^Vhere Pleasure's sigh aloiie is heaved, 

■\\1iere tears of rapture lovers weep, 
Endeared, undoubting, undeceived ; 

From some sweet paradise afar, 
lliy music wanders, distant, lost — 

Where Nature lights her leading star, 
And love is never, never crossed. 

Oh, gentle gale t)f Eden bowers, 
If back thy rosy feet should roanj. 

To revel with the cloudless Hours 
In Nature's more propitious home, 

Name to thy loved Elysian groves, 
Tliat o'er enchanted spirits twin% 

A faorer form than cherub loves, 
And let tiie name be Ca^ounb. 



Campbell's POEMa. 219 



CAKOLIHE. 

PART II. 

TO THE EVENING STAR, 

Ge3C of the crimson -colored Even, 

Companion of retiring day, 
Wliy at the closing gates of Heaven, 

Beloved star, dost thou delay? 

So fair thy pensile beauty burns, 

When soft the tear of twilight flows; 

So due thy plighted love retui-ns, 
To chambers brighter than the rose: 

To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love, 
So kind a star thou seonfst to be. 

Sure, some enamored orb above 

Descends and burns to meet with thee. 

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour, 
When all unheavenly passions dy, 

Chased by the soul-subduing power 
Of Love's delicious witchery. 

O ! sacred to the faU of day, 

Queen of propitious stars, appear, 

And early rise, and long delay, 
\\1ien Ciuroline herself is here ! 

Sirdne on her chosen green resort, 

Whose trees the sunward simimit crown. 

And wanton tlowers, that avcU may court 
An angel's feet to tread them down. 



220 AM pp. E Lie's POE3r«l 

Shine on her sweetly-scented road, 
Thou star of eyening's pxirple dome, 

That lead'st the nightingale abroad, 
And gnid'st the i^ilgrim to his home. 

Shine, where my charmer's sweeter breath 
Embahris the soft exhaling dew, 

Where dAdng winds a sigh bequeath 
To kiijs the cheek of rosy hue. 

Where, wiimowed by the gentle air, 
Her silken tresses darkly flow, 

And fall upon her brow so fair, 

Like shadows on the mountain snow 

Thus, ever thus, at day's dechne. 
In converse sweet, to wander far, 

O bring with thee my Caroline, 

And thou shalt be my Ruling Star I 



THE BEECH TREE'S PETTriON. 

O LFAVE this barren spot to me ! 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 
Though bush or flow'ret never grow 
My dark im warming shade below ; 
Nor summer bud perfume the dew 
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ! 
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-bom, 
My green and glossy leaves adorn ; 
Nor murmuring tribes from me derivo 
Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; 



CAMPBELLS P0EM8. 22 1 

Yet leave this barren spot to me: 
Spare, woodman, spare tlie beechen tree ! 

Thrice twenty sximmers I have seen 
The sky grow brig}:t, the forest green ; 
And many a wintry wind have stood 
Li blooniless, fruitless solitude, 
Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
First spent its sweet and sportive hour. 
Since youthful lovers in my shade 
Their vows of truth and rapture made ; 
And on my trunk's survi'S'ing frame 
Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound, 
First breathed upon this sacred ground; 
By all that Love has whispered here, 
Or Beauty heard with ravished ear; 
As Love's own altar honor me : 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tre€ ! 



FIELD FLOAVERS. 

Yb field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tii? trae, 
Yftt, -wildings of Nature, I dote upon you, 

For ye waft me to summers of old, 
WTien the earth teemed aroxind me ^vith fairy delight. 
And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my siglt, 

Like treasures of silver and gold. 

I love you for lulling me back into dreams 
Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streami^ 
18 • 



222 Campbell's poems. 

And of birchen glades breathing their bah a, 
Wlule tlie deer was seen glancing in sxmshuie remote. 
And the deeji meUow crush of the wood-pigeon's note 

Made music that sweetened the calm. 

Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 

Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June : 

Of old niinotis castles ye tell, 
Wliere I thought it dehghtfid your beauties to find, 
When the magic of Nature first breathed on my mind, 

And your blossoms were part of her spell. 

Even no w what affections the violet awakes ; 
"What loved Httle islands, twice seen in their lakes, 

Can the wild water-lily restore; 
What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, 
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, 

In the vetches that tangled their shore. 

Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, 
Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear 

Had scathed my existence's bloom ; 
Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stago, 
With the visions of youth to revisit my age, 

And I wish you to grow on my ^omb. 



STANZAS TO PAINTING. 

O THOU by whose expressive art 
Her perfect image Nature sees 

In imion with the Graces start, 
And sweeter by reflection j^lease ! 



Campbell's poems. 223 

In whose creative hand the hues 
Fresh from yon orient rainbow shine; 

I bless thee, Promethean Muse ! 

And call thee brightest of the Ninel 

Possessing more than vocal power, 
Persuasive more than poet's tongue; 

Whose lineage, in a raptured hour, 
From Love, the Sire of Nature, sprung 

Does Hope her liigh possession meet i 

Is joy triumphant, sorrow &ovm ? 
Sweet is the trance, the tremor sweet. 

When all we love is all our own. 

But oh ! thou pulse of pleasure dear, 
Slow throbbing, cold, I feel thee part; 

Lone absence pitmts a pang severe, 
Or death inflicts a keener dart. 

Then for a beam of joy to light 
In memory's sad and wakeful eye I 

Or banish from the noon of night 
Her dreams of deeper agony. 

Shall Song its witching cadence roll ? 

Yea, even the tendorcst air re])eat. 
That breathed wlien soul was knit to soui. 

And heart to Jieart responsive beat ? 

What visions rise ! to charm, to melt I 
The lost, the loved, the dead are ne^ir ? 

Oh, hush that straui too deeply felt ! 
And cease that solace too severe 1 



22i 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But thou, serenely silent art ! 

By heaven and love wast taught to lend 
A milder solace to the heart, 

The sacred image of a friend. 

All is not lost I if, yet possessed. 
To me that sweet memorial shine; 

If close and closer to my breast 
1 hold that idol all divine. 



Or, gazing through luxurious tears, 
Melt o'er the loved departed form, 

Till death's cold bosom half appears 
With life, and speech, and spirit waniL 



She looks ! she lives ! this tranced hour, 
Her bright eye seems a purer gem 

Than sparkles on the throne of power. 
Or glory's wealthy diadem. 

Yes, Genius, yes ! thy mimic aid 
A treasure to my soul has given, 

Where beauty's canonized shade 

Smiles in the sainted hues of heaven 

No spectre forms of pleasure fled. 

Thy softenuig, sweetening tints restore ; 

For thou canst give us back the dead. 
E'en in the loveliest looks they wore. 

Then blest be Nature's guardian Muse, 
Whose hand her perished grace redeem* I 

Wl^ose tablet of a thousand hues 
The mirror of creation seems. 



CAMPBELL'S 1» O E M S. 22R 

From Love began thy higl descent; 

And lovers, charmed by gifts of thine, 
Shall bless thee mutely eloquent; 

And call thee brightest of the Nine I 



LINES, 



WSCKIBED ON THE MONUMENT LATELY FINISHED BT MB. 
CHANTHEY, WHICH HAS BEEN ERECTED BY THE WIDOW 
OP ADMIRAL SIR O. CAMPBELL, K. C. B., TO THE MEMOBt 
OP HER HUSBAND. 

To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart, 
Fulfilled the hero's and the patriot's part,— 
Whose charity, like that which Paul enjoined. 
Was warm, beneficent, and unconfined,— 
This stone is reared : to public duty trac, 
The seaman's friend, the father of his crew; 
MUd in reproof, sagacious in command. 
He spread fraternal zeal throughout his band, 
And led each arm to act, each heart to feel. 
What British valor owes to Britain's weal. 
These were his public virtues ; —but to trace 
His private life's fair pmity and grace, 
To paint the traits that drew affection strong 
From friends, an ample and an ardent throng. 
And: more, to speak his memory's gratefiil claim 
On her who mourns mm most, and bears his name- 
O'ercomes the trembling hand of widowed grief, 
O'ercomes the hearty unconscious of relief, 
Save in religion's high and holy trust. 
Whilst placing theii- memorial o'er his dust 



fZii O A M P B S 1. 1,' 6 I O E K fi,. 

SONG, 

TO THE BVBIOHQ STAB. 

Stas that bringest home the be«, 
And sett'st the weary laborei free ! 
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, 

That send' St it from above, 
Appearing when Heaven's breath and bi'ow 

Are sweet as hers we love. 

Come to the luxuriant skies, 
Whilst the landscape's odors rise. 
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard, 

And songs, when toil is done, 
From cottages whose smoke unstirred 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

Star of love's soft interviews. 
Parted lovers on thee muse; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art, 
Too delicious tc be riven 

By absence from the heart. 



w^MFBELL 8 POEMS. 227 

STANZAS, 

ON THE BATTLE OF NAYABINO. 

Hearts of oak that have bravely delivered the >rave, 
And uplifted old Greece from tlie brink . f the grave, 
Twas the helpless to help, and the hopeless to save, 

That your thunderbolts swept o'er the brine : 
And as long as yon sun shall look down on the wave 

The light of your glory shall shine. 



For the guerdon ye sought with your bloodshed and toil, 
Was it slaves, or dominion, or rapine, or spoil ? 
No ! your lofty emprise was to fetter and foil 

ITie uprooter of Greece's domain ! 
"V^Tien he tore the last remnant of food from her soil, 

TOl her famished sank pale as the slain! 



Yet, Navarino's heroes ! does Cristendom breed 

The base hearts that will question the fame of your deed) 

Are they men ? — let ineffable scorn he tbeir meed. 

And oblivion shadow their graves ! — 
Are they women ? — to Turkish serails let them speed ; 

And be mothers of Mussulman slaves. 



Abettors of massacre I dare ye deplore 

That the death-shriek is silenced on Helias's shore? 

That the mother aghast sees her offspring no more 

By the hand of Infanticide grasped ? 
And that stretched on your billows distained by their govs 

Missolonghi's assassins have gasped? 



228 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Prouder scene never hallov/ed war's pomp to the mind* 
Than when Christendom's pemions woo'd social the win^i 
And the flower of her brave for the combat combined. 

Their watchword, hiimanity's vow : 
Not a sea-boy that fought in that cause,, but mankind 

0\*e8 a garland to honor his brow! 

Nor giudge, by our side, that to conquer or faU, 
Came the hardy rude Kuss, and the high-mettled GaiiS i 
For whose was the genius, that planned at its call, 

Where the whirlwmd of battle sliould roU ? 
All were brave ! but the star of success over all 

Was the light of our Codring^on's soul. 

That star of thy day-spring, regenerate Greek ! 
Dimmed the Saracen's moon, and struck pallid his cheslj 
In its fast-flushing morning thy Muses shall speak 

When tlieir lore and their lutes they reclaim : 
knd the flrst of their songs from Pamassus's peak 

ShaD be " Glory to Codrington'a nams" 



THE MAID'S EEMONSTRAPCCB. 

Never wedding, ever wooing, 
Still a love-lorn heart pursuing, 
Read you not the wrong you're doing 

In my cheek's pale hue ? 
All my life with sorrow strewing j 

Wed, or cease to woo. 



Campbell's poems. 229 

Rivals banished, bovsoras pligfhted, 
Still oxiT. days are disunited ; 
Now the lamp of hope is lightea, 

Now half quenched appears, 
Damped, and wavering, and benighted, 

Midst my sighs and tears. 



Charms you call your dearest blessing. 
Lips that thriU at your caressing. 
Eyes a mutual soul confessing, 

Soon you'll make them grow 
Dim, and worthless your posseasing, 

Not with age, but wo 1 



ABSENCE. 



Ti8 not the loss of love's assurance, 
It is not doubting what thou art, 

But 'tis the too, too long endurance 
Of absence, that aflBlicts my heart. 

The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish. 
When each is lonely doomed to weep, 

Are fruits on desert isles that perish. 
Or riches buried in the deep. 

Wliat though, untouched by jealotus madness. 
Our bosom's peace may fall to wreck; 
20 



230 Campbell's poems. 

The Tindoubting heart, that breaks with sadnesAy 
Is but more slowly doomed to brealc 

Absence ! is not the soul torn by it 

From more than light, or life, or breath ! 

'Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet, — 
The pain without the peace of death 1 



LINES, 

ON BBVI8ITING A. SCOTTISH BXVEK. 

And call they this Improvement ? — to have changed, 

My native Clyde, thy once romantic shore, 

Where Nature's face is banished and estranged. 

And Heaven reflected in thy wave no more; 

Whose banks, that sweetened May- day's breath before, 

Lie sere and leafless now in summer's beam. 

With sooty exhalations covered o'er ; 

And for the dasied greensward, down thy stream 

Unsightly brick-lanes smoke, and clanking engines gleam 

Speak not to me of swarms the scene sustains ; 

One heart free tasting Nature's breath and bloom 

Is worth a thoiisand slaves to Mammon's gains. 

But whither goes that wealth, and gladdening \^hom? 

See, left but life enough and breathing-room 

The hunger and the hope of life to feel, 

Yon pale Mechanic bending o'er his loom, 

And Childhood's self as at Ixion's wheel. 

From mom till midnight tasked to earn its little 



Campbell's poems. 231 

Is this Improvement? — where the human breed 

Degenerate as they swarm and overflow, 

Till Toil grows cheaper than the trodden weed, 

And man competes with man, like foe with foe, 

Till Death, that thuis them, scarce seems public wo ! 

Improvement ! — smiles it in the poor man's eyes, 

Or blooms it on the cheek of Labor ? — No — 

To gorge a few with Trade's precarious prize, 

We banish rural life, and breathe unwholesome skies 

Nor call that e^dl slight ; Gcd has not given 

This passion to the heart of man in vain. 

For Earth's green face, the untaiiited air of Heaven, 

And all the bliss of Nature's rustic reign. 

For not alone our frame unbibes a stain 

From foetid skies ; the spirit's healthy pride 

Fades in their gloom. — And therefore I complain, 

That thou no more tlirough pastoral scenes shouldst glides 

^Cy Wallace's own. stream, and once romantic Clyde ! 



THE "NAME UNKNOWN." 

IN IMITATION OF KLOPSTOCK. 

Prophetic pencil ! wilt thou trace 
A faithful image of the face, 

Or wilt thou write the "Name Unknown, 
Ordained to bless my charmed soul, 
And all my future fate control, 

Unrivalled and alone f 



232 Campbell's poems 

Delicious Idol of my thought : 
Though syli)h or spirit hath not taugh 

My boding heart thy precious namei 
Yet musing on my distant fate, 
To charms unseen I consecrate 

A visionarj' flame. 

rhy rosy blush, thy meaning eye, 
Thy virgin voice of melody, 

Are ever present to my heart ; 
Thy murmured vows shall yet be mine, 
My thrilling hand shall meet Avith txiins. 

Aid never, never part 1 

Then fiy, my days, on rapid wing, 
Till Love the viewless treasure bring; 

While I, lilce conscious AthenSf own 
A power in mystic silence sealed, 
A guardian angel unrevealed, 

And bless the •• Name Unknown ! " 



LINES, 

ON THE CAJir HILL, NEAK HASTINGS. 

In the deep blue of eve. 
Ere the twinkling of stars had bogiui, 

Or the lark took his leave 
Of the skies and the sweet setting sun, 

I climbed to yon heights, 
Where the Norman encamped him of old. 



Campbell's poems. 233 

With, his bowmen and knights, 
And bis banner all bxirnish.ed with gold 

At the Concj^ueror's side 
There his minstrelsy sat karp in hand, 

In pavilion wide ; 
And they chanted the deeds of Roland. 

Still the ramparted ground 
With a vision my fancy inspires. 

And I hear the trump sound, 
As it marshalled oui- Chivalry's sires. 

On each, turf of that mead 
Stood the captors of England's domains, 

That emiobled her breed 
And high-mettled the blood of her veins. 

Over hauberk and helm 
As the Sim's setting splendor was thrown, 

Thence they looked o'er a realm — 
And to-morrow beheld it their own. 



FAREWELL TO LOVE. 

I HAt a heart that doted once in Passion's 'Doundlesi 

pain, 
And though the tyrant I abiured. I could not break hia 

chain ; 
But now that Fancy's fire is quenched, and ne er can 

bum anew, 
Fye bid to Love, for all my life, adieu ! adieu ! adieu I 
20* 



284: CAMPBaLL's POEMS 

I've known, if ever mortal knew, the spells of Beauty's 

thrall. 
And if my song has told them not, my soxil has fell 

them all ; 
But Passion robs my peace no more, and Beauty's 

witching sway 
Is now to me a star that's fall'n — a dream that's passed 

away. 

Hail ! welcome tide of life, when no timiultuous billows 

roU ; 
How wondrous to myself appears this halcyon calm oi 

soul ! 
The wearied bird blown o'er the deep would sooner quit 

its shore. 
Than I would cross the gulf again that time has brought 

me o'er. 

Why say they angels feel the flame? — Oh, spirits of 

the skies ! 
Can love like ours, that dotes on dust in heavenlj 

bosoms rise? — 
Ah no ! the hearts that best have felt its power, the 

best can tell, 
That peace on earth itself begma, when Love haa bid 

fareweU. 



CillfPBELL^S POKMg. 235 



IJNES ON POLAND. 



A.ND have I lived to see thee sword in hand 
Uprise again, immortal Polish Land ! — 
Whose flag brings more than chivalry to mind. 
And leaves the tri-color in shade behind — 
A theme for uninspired Ups too strong ; 
That swells my heart beyond the power of song ! 
Majestic men ! whose deeds have dazzled faith. 
Ah ! yet your fate's suspense arrests my breath ; 
Whilst envying bosoms bared to shot and steel, 
I feel the more that fruitlessly I feel. 

Poles ! with what indignation I endure 
Th' half-pitying, servile mouths that call you poor; 
Poor ! is it England mocks you with her grief^ 
Who hates, but dares not chide, th' Imperial Thief i 
France, with her soiil beneath a Bourbon's thrall, 
And Germany that has no soul at all, — 
States, quailing at the giant overgrown, 
Wliom dauntless Poland grapples with alone ! 
No, ye are rich in fame e'en whilst ye bleed : 
We can not aid you — we are poor indeed I 

In Fate's defiance — in the world's great eye, 
Poland has won her immortahty; 
The Butcher, should he reach her bosom now. 
Could not tear Glory^s garland from her brow; 
Wreathed, filleted, the victim falls renowned. 
And all her ashes will be holy ground ! 

But turn, my soul, from presages so dark : 
Great Poland's spirit is a deathless spark 



236 CAMPBELL* S POEMS. 

That's fanned by Heaven to mock the Tyrant's rage: 

She, like the eagle, will renew her age, 

And fresh liistoric plumes of Fame put on, — 

Another Athens after Marathon, — 

Wliere eloquence shall fulnune, arts refine, 

Bright as her arms that now in battle shine. 

Come — should the heavenly shock my life .destroy, 

And shut its flood-gates mth excess of joy ; 

Come but the day when Poland's fight is won — 

And on my grave-stone shine the morrow's sun 1 - 

The day that sees Warsaw's cathedral glow, 

With endless ensigiis ravished from the foe, — 

Her women lifting their fair hands A\ith thanks, 

Her pious wai'riors kneeling in their ranks, 

The 'scutcheoned walls of high heraldic boast. 

The odorous altars' elevated host. 

The organ sounding through the aisle's long glajms, 

The mighty dead seen sculi)tured o'er their tombs; 

(John, Europe's sa\dor — Poniatowski's fair 

Kesemblance — Kosciusko's shall be there;) 

The tapered pomp — the hallelujah's swell, 

Shall o'er the soul's devotion cast a spell. 

Till visions cross the rapt enthusiast's glance, 

And all the scene becomes a waking trance. 

Should Fate put far, far off that glorious scene, 

And gulfs of havoc interpose between. 

Imagine not, ye men of every cHme, 

Who act, or by your sufferance share the crime^ 

Your brother Abel's blood shall vainly plead 

Against the ** deep damnation" of the deed. 

Germans, ye view its horror and disgrace 

With cold phosphoric eyes and phlegm of fJEWJe. 

Is AUemagne profoimd in science, lore, 

And minstrel art ? — her shame is but the more 

To doze and dream by governments oppressed, 

The spirit of a book- worm in each breast. 

Well can ye mouth fair Freedom's classic line. 



Campbell's poems 237 

AticI talk of Constitutions o'er your ^vii^e : 
But all your vows to break the tyrant's yoke 
Expii-e in Bacchanalian song and smoke: 
Heavens ! can no ray of foresight pierce the lead 
And mystic metaphysics of your heads. 
To show the self-same grave, Oppression delves 
For Poland's rights, is ya\\Tiing for yourselves ! 

See whilst the Pole, the vanguard aid of Fiance, 
Has vaulted on his barb and couched the lance, 
France turns from her abandoned friends afresh, 
And soothes the Bear that prowls for patriot flesh.; 
Buys, ignominious purchase ! short repose, 
With dying curses and the groans of those 
That served, and loved, and put in her their trust I 
Frenchmen ! the dead accuse you from the dust — 
Brows laurelled — bosoms marked with many a scar 
For France — chat wore her Legion's noblest star, 
Cast dumb reproaches, from tlie field of Death, 
On Gallic honor : and tlus broken faith 
Has robbed you more of Fame — the life of life — • 
Than twenty battles lost in glorious strife ! 

And what of England ? — Is she steeped so low 

In poverty, crest-fall'n, and palsied so, 

That we must sit, much Avroth, but timorous more, 

With Murder knocking at our neighbor's door? 

Not Murder masked and cloaked, -vvitli hidden knife^ 

^Tiose OTMier owes the gallows Hfe for life ; 

But Public Murder ! — that with pomp and gaud, 

And royal scorn of Justice, walks abroad 

To -vsTing more tears and blood than e'er were wning 

By all the culprits Justice ever hung ! 

We read the diademmed Assassin's vaunt. 

And wince, and wish we had not hearts to pant 

With useless indignation — sigh, and frown, 

But have not hearts to throw the gauntlet down. 



238 Campbell's poems. 

If but a doubt hung o'er the gromids of fray, 

Or trivif\l rapine stopper) the world's highway; 

Were this some common strife of States embroileij 

Britannia on the spoiler and the spoiled 

Might calmly look, and, asking time to breathe, 

Still honorably wear his oHve wreath. 

But this is Darkness conabatting with Light : 

Earth's v iverse Principles for empii-e fight : 

Oppression., that has belted half the globe, 

Far as his knout could reach or dagger probe, 

Holds reeking o'er oiir brother-freemen slain 

That dagger — shakes it at us in disdain; 

Talks big to Freedom's States of Poland's thrall. 

And, trampling one, contemns them one and all. 

My country ! colors not thy once proud brow 

At this affront ? — Hast thou not fleets enow 

With Glory's streamer, lofty as the lark, 

Gay fluttering o'er each thunder-bearing bark, 

To warm the insulter's seas ^\-ith barbarous bloodj, 

And interdict his flag from Ocean's flood? 

EVn now far off the sea-cliff, where I sing, 

I see, my Country and ray Patriot King ! 

Your ensign glad the deep. Becalmed and slow 

jj war-ship rides ; while Heaven's prismatic bow, 

Uprisen behind her on th' horizon's base, 

Shines flushing through the tackle, shrouds, and stajrak 

And wraps her giant form in one majestic blaze. 

My soul accepts the omen ; Fancy's eye 

Has sometimes a veracious augury : 

The Rainbow types Heaven's promise to my sight; 

The Ship, Britannia's interposing might ! 

But If there should be none to aid you, Polea 
Ye'll but to prouder pitch -wind up your soials, 
Above example, pity, praise, or blame, 
To sow and reap a boundless field of Famt, 



CAMPBELLS POEMS 



23y 



Ask aid no more from Nations that forget 

Yonr championship — old Eiirope's mighty debt. 

Though Poland (Lazarus-like) has burst the gloom. 

She rises not a beggar from the tomb: 

In Fortune's fruwn, on Danger's giddiest brink, 

Despair and Poland's name must never link 

All ills have bounds — plague, whirl-wind, fire, and flood 

Ev'n Power can spill but boimded simis of blood. 

States, caring not what Freedom's price may be, 

May late or soon, but must at last be free; 

For body-killing tyrants can not kill 

The public soul — th' hereditary' will 

That, downward as from sire to son it goes, 

By sliifting bosoms more intensely glows : 

Its heir-loom is the heart, and slaughtered men 

Fight fiercer in their orphans o'er again. 

Poland recasts — though rich in heroes old — 
Her men in more and more heroic mould: 
Her eagle ensign best among mankind 
Becomes, and types her eagle-strength of mind : 
Her praise upon my faltering Ups expires: 
Resume it, younger bards, and nobler lyres I 



MAEGAHET AJSD DORA. 

Marqajiet's beauteous — Grecian arts 
Ne'er drew form completer, 
Yet why, in my heart of hearts, 
Hold I Dora's sweeter? 



240 Campbell's poems» 

Dora's eyes of heavenly blue, 
Pass all painting's reach; 
Riiig-doTe's notes are discord to 
The music of her speech. 

Artists ! Margaret's smile recelTe^ 
And on canvass show it ; 
But for perfect -worship leave 
Dora to her poet. 



A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE 
NEW YEAE. 

The more we live, more brief appear 

Our life's succeeding stages ; 
A day to childhood seems a year, 

And years like passing ages. 

The gladsome ciirrent of our youth. 

Ere passion yet disorders. 
Steals, lingermg like a river smooth 

Along its grassy borders. 

But as tile care-worn cheek grows wan. 

And sorrow's shafts fly thicker. 
Ye stars, that measure life to man, 

Why seem joxa courses quicker? 

When joys have lost their bloom and breatti. 

And life itself is vapid, 
Why, as we reach the Falls of death 

Feel we its tide more rapid? 



Campbell's poems 241 

It may be strange — yet who would change^ 

Time's course to slower speeding; 
When one by one our friends have gone, 

And left our bosoms bleeding ? 

Heaven gives our years of fading strength 

Indemnifying fleetness ; 
A.nd those of Youth, a seeming lengthy 

Proportioned to their sweetness. 



SONQ. 



How delicious is the winning 
Of a kiss at Love's beginning, 
When two mutual hearts are sighing 
For the knot there's no untying ! 

Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, 
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing; 
Other smiles may malce you fickle, 
Tears for other charms may trickle. 

Love he comes, and Love he tames. 
Just as fate or fancy carries ; 
Longest stays, when sorest chidden, 
Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden. 

Bind the sea to slumber stilly, 
Bind its odor to the lily. 
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, 
Then bind Love to last for ever I 
21 



242 Campbell's poems. 

Love's a fire that needs renewal 

Of fresh beauty for its fuel; 

Love's whig moults when caged and captared» 

Only free, he soars enraptured. 

Can you keep the bee from ranging. 
Or the ring-dove's neck from changing? 
No ! nor fettered Love from dying, 
In the knot there's no untying. 



THE POWER OF RUSSIA.. 

So all this gaUant blood has gushed in vain I 
Ajid Poland by the Northern Condor's beak 
And talons torn, lies prostrated again. 
O, British patriots, that were wont to speak 
Once loudly on this theme, now hushed or meek I 
O, heartless men of Europe — Goth and Gaul 
Cold, adder- deaf to Poland's djing shriek ; — 
That saw the world's last land of heroes fall — 
The brand of burning shame is on you aU — all — till I 

But tliis is not the drama's closing act ! 
Its tragic ciutain must uprise anew. 
Nations, mute accessories to the fact ! 
rhat XTpas-tree of power, whose fostering dew 
Was Polish blood, has yet to cast o'er you 
The lengthening shadow of its head elate — 
A deadly shadow, darkening Nature's hue. 
To all that's hallowed, righteous, pure, and great, 
Wo ! wo ! when they are reached by Russia's withering 
hate. 



Campbell's poems 243 

Russia, that on his throne of adamant, 
Consults what nation's breast shall next be gored : 
He en Pcloria's Golgotha vdll plant 
His standard fresh; and, horde succeeding horde, 
On patriot tomb-stones he will whet the sword, 
For more stupendous slaughters of the free. 
Then Europe's realms, when their best blood is pouml 
Shall miss thee, Poland ! as they bend the knee, 
AH — all in grief, but none in glory likening thee. 

WTiy smote ye not the Giant whilst he reeled! 
O, fair occasion, gone forever by ! 
To have locked his lances in their northern field. 
Innocuous as the phantom chivalry 
That flames and hurtles from yon boreal sky ! 
Now, wave thy pennon, Russia, o'er the land 
Once Poland; build thy bristling castles high; 
Dig dungeons deep ; for Poland's wrested brand 
Is now a weapon- new to widen thy command — 

Aji aw^ul width ! Norw^egian woods shall build 
His fleets ; the Swede his vassal, and the Dane ; 
Tlie glebe of fifty kingdoms shall be tilled 
To feed his da/zHng, desolating train. 
Camped sumless, 'twixt the Black and Baltic main 
Brute hosts, I own; but Sparta could not ^-rite, 
And Rome, half-barbarous, bound Achaia's chain : 
So Russia's spirit, midst Sclavonic night, 
Bums with a fire more dread than all your polished ligl>t, 



But Russia's limbs (so blinded statesmen say) 
Are crude, and too colossal to cohere. 
O, lamentable weakness ! reckoning weak 
The stripHng Titan, strengthening year by year. 
What impliment lacks he for war's career, 
That grows on earth, or in its floods and minee 
(Eightli sharer of the inhabitable sphere) 



244 Campbell's poem« 

Wh(im Persia bows to, China ill confines, 
Ajid India's homage waits, when Albion's star declines* 

But time will teach the Russ, even conquering War 
Has handmaid arts : ay, ay, the Russ wiU woo 
All sciences that speed Beilona's car, 
All murder's tactic arts, and win them too ; 
But never holier Muses shall imbue 
His breast, that's made of nature's basest clay: 
The sabre, knout, and dungeon's vapor blue 
HLs laws and ethics : far from him away 
Are all the lovely Nine, that breatlie but Freedom's duy, 

Say, even liis serfs, half-humanized, should learn 
Their human rights, — aa-iU Mars put out his fiame 
In Russian bosoms? no, he'll bid them bum 
A thousand years for nought but mai-tial fame. 
Like Romans : — yet forgive me, Roman name ! 
Rome could impart what Russia never can ; 
Proud civic rights to salve submission's shame. 
Our strife is coming ; but in Freedom's van 
riie Polish eagle's fall is big mth fate to man. 

Proud bird of old ! Mohammed's moon recoiled 
Before thy swoop : had we been timely bold. 
That swoop, stUl free, had stunned the Russ, and foiled 
Earth's new oppressors, as it foiled her old. 
Now thy majestic •j^es are shut and cold : 
And colder still Polonia's children find 
The sjonpathetic hands, that we outhold. 
But, Poles, when we are gone, the world will mind, 
Te bore the brunt of fate, and bled for humankiad. 

So hallowedly have ye fulfilled your part, 
My pride repudiates even the sigh that blends 
Witi. Poland's name — name written on ray heart 
My heroes, my grief-consecrated friends ! 



Campbell's poems 245 

Your sorrow, in nobility, transcends 
Your conqueror's joy : his cheek may blush ; but shama 
Can tinge not youi's, though exile's tear descends ; 
Nor would ye change your conscience, cause, and name^ 
For his, with all his wealth, and aU his felon fame. 

Thee, Niemciemtz, whose song of stirring power 
The Czar forbids to sound in Polish lands; 
Thee, Czartorj'ski, m thy banished bower, 
Tlie patricide, who in thy palace stands, 
May en%7'; proudly may Polonia's bands 
Throw doAvn their swords at Europe's feet in scorm 
Sajing — "Russia from the metal of these brands 
Shall forge the fetters of your sons unborn ; 
Oux setting star is your misfortunes' rising mom.' 



LINES 



ON LEAVING A SCENE LN^ BAVABIA. 

AuiEu the woods and water's side. 
Imperial Danube's rich domain ! 

Adieu the grotto, ^ild and vnde, 
The rocks abrupt, and grassy plain 1 
For pallid Autiimn once again 

Hath swelled each torrent of the hill ; 
Her clouds collect, her shadows sail, 
And watery \s-inds that sweep the ralt^ 

Grow loud and louder stUl. 

But not the storm, dethroning fast 
Y^on monarch oak of massy pile 
21* 



246 Campbell's poema 

Nor river roaring to the blast 
Aroimd. its dark and desert isle; 
Nor chxircli-bell tolling to beguile 

The cloud-lorn thunder passing by, 
Can sound in discord to my soul: 
Roll on, ye mighty waters, roll ! 

And rage, thou darkened sky ! 

Thy blossoms now no longer bright; 

Thy withered woods no longer greer 
Yet, Eldiu-n sliore, \^ath dark delight 

I visit thy unlovely scene ! 

For many a sunset hour serene 
My steps have trod thy meUow dew ; 

When his green light the glow-worm gave, 

When C^mthia from the distant wave 
Her twilight anchor drew, — 

And ploughed, as with a swelling sail, 

The billowy clouds and starry sea ; 
Then while thy hermit nightingale 

Sang on his fragrant apple-tree, — 

Romantic, solitary, free, 
The visitant of Eldurn's shore, 

On such a moonlight moimtain strayed. 

As echoed to the music made 
By Dniid harps "of yore. 

Around thy savage hiUs of oak, 

Aroiind thy waters bright and blue, 

No hiinter's horn the silence broke. 
No dying sliriek thine echo knew ; 
But safe, sweet Eldiirn woods, to you 

The wounded wild deer ever ran, 

Whose myrtle boimd their grassy cave> 
Whose very roclcs a shelter gave 

From blood-pursuing man. 



Campbell's poems. 247 

Oh heart effusions, that arose 

From nightly wanderings cherished here; 
To him who flies from many woes, 

Even homeless deserts can be dear ! 

The last and solitary cheer 
Of those that own no earthly home, 

Say — is it not, ye banished race, 

In such a loved and lonely place 
Companionless to roam ? 

Yes ! I have loved thy wild abode, 

UnknoA\'n, unploughed, untrodden shore ; 
Where scarce the woodman finds a road. 

And scarce the fisher phes an oar ; 

For man's neglect I love thee more ; 
That art nor avarice intrude 

To tame thy torrent's thimder- shock, 

Or prune thy vintage of the rock 
Magnificently rude. 

Unheeded spreads thy blossomed bud 

Its milky bosom to the bee ; 
"Unheeded falls along the flood 

Thy desolate and aged tree. 

Forsaken scene, how like to thee 
rhe fate of unbefriended Worth ! 

Like thine her fruit dishonored fails i 

Like thee in solitude she calls 
A thoiLsand treasures forth. 

Oh ! silent spirit of the place, 

K, lingering with the ruined year, 
Thy hoary form and awful face 

I yet might watch and worship here 1 

Thj storm were music to mine ear, 
Thy wildest walk a shelter given 

Sublitner thoughts on earth to find. 



248 CAMPBELL^S POEMS. 

And share, with no unhaHoM'ed mind. 
The majesty of heaven. 

What though the bosom friends of Fats,*^ 
Prosperity's unweaned brood, — 

Thy consolations can not rate, 
O, self-dependent Solitude! 
Yet with a spirit unsubdued. 

Though darkened by the clouds of Care, 
To worship thy congenial gloom, 
A pilgrim to the Prophet's tomb, 

The Friendless shall repair. • 

Okn him the world hath never smiled 
Or looked but with accusing eye ; — 

All-sUent goddess of the wild, 

To thee that misanthrope shall fly 1 
I hear his deep soliloquy, 

I mark his proud but ravaged form, 
As stem he wraps his mantle round, 
And bids, on winter's bleakest groimd. 

Defiance to the storm. 

Peace to his banished heart, at last, 
In thy dominions shall descend, 

And, strong as beech-wood in the blast. 
His spirit shall refuse to bend ; 
Endxiring life without a friend. 

The world and falsehood left behind. 
Thy votarj' shall bear elate, 
(Triumphant o'er opposing Fate,) 

His dark inspired mind. 

But dost thou, Folly, mock the Muse 
A wanderer's mountain walk to sing. 

Who shuns a warring world, nor woes 
The rulture cover of its wing ? 



Campbell's poems. 249 

Then fly, thou cowering, shivering thing, 
Back to the fostering world beguiled, 

To waste in self-consmning strife 

The loveless brotherhood of life, 
Reviling and reviled ! 

Away, thou lover of the race 

That hither chased yon weeping deer! 
If Nature's all majestic face 

More pitiless than man's appear ; 

Or if the wild winds seem more drear 
Than man's cold charities below. 

Behold around his peopled plains, 

Where'er the social savage reigns, 
Exuberance of wo ! 

His art and honors wouldst thou seek 
Embossed on grandeur's giant walls ? 

Or hear his moral thimders speak 
Where senates light their airy halls, 
Where man his brother man enthralls ; 

Or sends his whirlwind warrants forth 
To rouse the slumbering fiends of war, 
To dye the blood-warm waves afar. 

And desolate the earth ? 

From clime to clime pursue the scene. 
And mark in all thy spacious way. 

Where'er the tyrant man has been. 
There Peace, the cherub, can not stay; 
In vtdlds and woodlands far away 

She builds her solitary bower. 
Where only anchorites have trod, 
Or friendless men, to worship God, 

Have wandered for an houj. 

In such a far forsaken vale, — 

And such, sweet Eldum vale, is thine, — 



250 Campbell's poems. 

Afilicted nature shall inhale 

Heaven-borrowed thoughts and joys diyine; 

No longer wish, no more repine 
For man's neglect or woman's scorn ; — 

Then wed thee to an exile's lot, 

For if the world hath loved thee not, 
Its absence may be borne. 



THE DEATH-BOAT OF HELIGOLAND. 

Can restlessness reach the cold sepulchred head? — 
Ay, the quick have their sleep-walkers, so have the 

dead. 
There are brains, though they moulder, that dream in 

the tomb, 
And that maddening forebear the last trumpet of doom, 
Till their corses start sheeted to revel on earth, 
Making horror more deep by the semblance of mirth : 
By the glare of new-lighted volcanoes they dance, 
Or at mid-sea appall the cliill mariner's glance. 
Such, I wot, was the band of cadaverous smile 
Seen ploughing the night-surge of Heligo's isle. 

The foam of the Baltic had sparkled like fire. 
And the red moon looked down with an aspect of ire; 
But her beams on a sudden grew sick-like and gray, 
And the mews that had slept clanged and shrieked faf 

away — 
And the buoys and the beacons extinguished their light, 
As the boat of the stony-eyed dead came in sight,^ 
High bounding from billow to biUow; each form 
Had ts ehroud Hke a plaid flying loose to the storm ; 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 251 

With an oar in each, pulseless and icy-cold hand, 
Fast they ploughed, by the lee-shore of Heligoland, 
Such breakers as boat of the living ne'er crossed i 
Now surf-sunk for minutes again they uptossed. 
And with li\id lips shouted reply o'er the flood 
Tc the challenging watchman that curdled his blood — 
" Wt are dead — we are botind from our graves in tha 

west. 
First to Hecla, and then to " Unmeet was the 

rest 
For man's ear. The old abbey bell thundered its clang, 
And their eyes gleamed with phosphorous light as it 

rang: 
Ere they vanished, they stopped, and gazed silently 

grim, 
Till the eye could define them, garb, feature, and limb. 

Now who were those roamers ? — of gallows or wheel 
Bore they marks, or the mangling anatomist's steel ? 
No ! — by magistrates' chains 'mid their grave-clothes 

you saw. 
They were felons too proud to have perished by law; 
But a riband that himg where a rope should have been, 
'Twas the badge of their faction, its hue was not green, 
Showed them men who had trampled and tortured and 

driven 
To rebellion the fairest Isle breathed on by Heaven, — 
Men whose heirs would yet finish the tyrannous task, 
If the Tnith and the Time had not dragged off their 

mask. 
They parted — but not till the sight might discern 
A 'scutcheon distinct at their pinnace's stem, 
Where letters, emblazoned in blood- colored flame, 
Named their faction — I blot not my page with ita 

name. 



252 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 



SONG. 



When Love came first to Eartli, the Spring 
Spread rose-beds to receive him, 

And back he vowed his flight he'd wing 
To Heaven, Lf she should leave him — 

But Spring departing, saw his faith 
Pledged to the next new-comer — 

He revelled in the warmer breath 
And richer bowers of Summeb. 

rhen sportive Autumn claimed by rights 

An Archer for her lover. 
And ev'n in Winter's dark cold night* 

A charm he could discover. 

Her routs and balls, and fireside joy, 
For this time were his reasons — 

In short, YoTing Love's a gallant boy, 
That likes all times and seasons. 



SONG. 



Eakl Mabch looked on his dying childj 
And smit with grief to view her — 

The youth, he cried, whom I exiled. 
Shall be restored to woo her. 



OAMPBEI. L*8 POEMS. 253 

She's at the window many an hour 

His coming to discover: 
And Jie looked up to Ellen's bower, 

And she looked on her lover — 

But ah ! so pale, he knew her not, 

Though her smile on him was dwelling 

And am I then forgot — forgot ? — 
It broke the heart of Ellen. 

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs. 

Her cheek is cold as ashes ; 
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 

To lift their silken lashes. 



SONG. 

When Napoleon was flying 
From the field of Waterloo, 

A British soldier d^ing 

To his brother bade adieu ! 

"And take," he said, "this token 
To the maid that owns ray faith. 

With the words that I have spokes 
In affection's latest breath." 

Sore mourned the brother's heart, 
When the youth beside him fell; 

But the trumpet warned to part. 
And they took a sad farewelL 
9% 



254 Campbell's poems 

There was many a friend to lose him. 
For that gallant soldier sighed; 

But the maiden of his bosom 
Wept when all their tears were dried. 



LINES TO JULIA M . 

BBNT WITH A COPY OP THE ATTTHOB'S POBH& 

Since there is magic in your look, 
And in your voice a witching charm, 
As all our hearts consenting tell, 
Enchantress! smile upon my book, 
And guard its lays from hate and harm 
By Beauty's most resistless speU. 

The sunny dew-drop of thy praise, 
Young day-star of the rising time, 
Shall with its odoriferous mom 
Refresh my sere and withered bay^. 
Smile, and I will believe my rhyme 
ShaU please the beautiful imbom. 

Go forth, my pictured thoughts, and rise 
In traits and tints of sweeter tone. 
When Jidia's glance is o'er ye flung; 
Glow, gladden, linger in her eyes. 
And catch a magic not your own, 
Read by the music of her tongue. 



ll's poe 



DRINKING SONG OF MUNICH. 

Sweet Iser ! were thy sunny realm 

And flowery gardens mine, 
Tny waters I would shade with elm 

To prop the tender vine ; 
My golden flagons I woxild fill 
With rosy draughts from eyery hill ; 

And Tinder every mjTtle bower, 
My gay companions should prolong 
The laugh, the revel, and the song, 

To many an idle hour. 

Like rivers crimsoned with the beam 

Of yonder planet bright. 
Our balmy cups should ever stream 

Profusion of delight ; 
No care should touch the mellow hear1» 
And sad or sober none depart ; 

For wine can triumph over wo, 
And Love and Bacchus, brother powcris 
C5ould build in Iser's sunr.y bowers 

A paradise below 1 



255 



256 CAMPBELL' S POEMS. 

LINES, 

OS THE DEPAJtTOBE OP EMIOKANTS FOS TfHBW SOUTH WAUSS. 

On England's shore I saw a pensive band, 

With sails unfurled for earth's remotest strand. 

Like children parting from a mother, shod 

Teai-s for the home that could not yield them bread; 

Grief marked each face receding from the view, 

'Twas grief to nature honorably true. 

And long, poor wanderers o'er the ecliptic deep, 

The song that names but home shall make you weep; 

Oft shall ye fold your flocks by stars above 

Li that far world, and miss the stars ye love ; 

Oft when its tuneless bu-ds scream round forlorn, 

Regret the lark that gladdens England's mom, 

And, giving England's names to distant scenes. 

Lament that earth's extension intervenes. 



But cloud not yet too long, industrious tram, 

Your sohd good with sorrow nursed in vain; 

For has the heart no interest yet as bland 

As that which binds us to our native laiul ? 

The deep-draANTi wish, when cliildren crown our hearth, 

To hear the cherub-chorus of their mirth, 

Undamped by dread that want may e'er unhouse, 

Or servile misery knit those smiling brows . 

The pride to rear an independent shed, 

And give the lips we love unborrowed bread : 

To see a world, from shado-vv^' forests won, 

Li youtliful beauty wedded to the sun; 

To skirt our home with harvests Midely sown. 

And call the blooming landscape aU our own, 



Campbell's poems. 257 

Our children's heritage, in prospect long. 
Tliese are the hopes, high-minded hopes and strong, 
Tliat beckon England's wanderers o'er the brine. 
To realms where foreign constellations shine ; 
\Vhere streams from undiscovered fountains roll, 
And %\inds shall fan them from th' Antarctic pole. 
And what though doomed to shores so far apart 
From England's home, that ev'n the homesick heart 
Quails, thinking, ere that gulf can be recrossed. 
How large a space of fleetrng life is lost ! 
i''et there, by time, their bosoms shall be changed. 
And strangers once shall cease to sigh estranged. 
But jocund in the year's long sunshme roam. 
That j^elds their sicklo twice its harvest home. 



Tliere, marking o'er his farm's expanding ring 

New fleeces wliiten and new fruits upspring, 

The gray-haired swam, his grandchild sporting rouadj 

Shall walk at eve his little empire's bound. 

Emblazed witli ruby vintage, ripening com, 

And verdant rampart of acacian thorn, 

WMle, mingling with the scent his pipe exhales, 

The orange-grove's and fig-tree's breath prevails j 

Survey mth pride beyond a monarch's spoil, 

His honest arm's own subjugated soil ; 

A7id stunming all the blessings God has given. 

Put up his patriarchal prayer to Heaven, 

I'hat when his bones shall here repose in peaoo^ 

The scions of his love may still increase. 

And o'er a land where life has ample room, 

In health and plenty innocently bloom. 

\i 
Delightful land, in wildness even benign, 
The glorious past is o\irs, the future thine ! 
Aa m a cradled Hercules, we trace 
The lines of empire in thine infant face. 
22* 



258 CAMPBELL S POEMS 

WTiat nations in thy wide horizon's span 

Shall teem on tracts xmtrodden yet by man ! 

What spacious cities with their spires shall gleam* 

Where now the panther laps a lonely stream 

And all but brute or reptile life i9 dumb ! 

Land of the free ! thy kingdom is to come, 

Of states, with laws from Gotliic bondage buj-st. 

And creeds by chartered priesthoods unaccursed : 

Of navies, hoisting their emblazoned tiags, 

Where shipless seas now wash unbeaconed crags ; 

Of hosts reviewed in dazzling files and squares, 

Their pennoncd trumpets breathing native airs, — 

For minstrels thou slialt have of native fire, 

And maids to sing the songs themselves inspire : — 

Our very speech, methinks, in after time. 

Shall catch the Ionian blandness of thy clime ; 

And whilst the light and luxury of thy skies 

(jive brighter smiles to beauteous woman's eyes, 

The Arts, whose soul is love, shall all spontaneous risa 

Untracked in deserts lies the marble mine, 

Undug the ore that midst thy roofs shall shine ; 

Unborn the hands — but bom they are to be — 

Fair Australasia, that shall give to thee 

Proud temple-domes, with galleries winding high, 

So vast in space, so just in symmetry, 

They ^\iden to the contemplating eye, 

With colonnaded aisles in long array. 

And windows that enrich the flood of day 

O'er tesselated pavements, pictures fair. 

And niched statues breathing golden air. 

Nor there, whilst aU that's seen bids Fancy swell, 

Shall Music's voice refuse to seal the spell ; 

But choral hymns shall wake enchantment round. 

And organs yield their tempests of sweet somid. 

Meanwhile, ere Arts triumphant reach their goal. 
How blest the years of pastoral life shaU roll ! 



Campbell's toems. 259 

Even shoTild some wayward }:o\ir the settler's mind 

Brood sad on scenes forever left behind, 

Yet not a pang that England's name imparts, 

Shiill touch a fibre of his children's hearts ; 

Bound to that native land by nature's bond, 

Full little shall their wishes rove beyond 

Its mountains blue, and melon-skirted streams, 

Bince childhood loved and dreamed of in their dreams 

How many a name, to us uncouthly wild, 

Shall thrill that region's patriotic child, 

And bring as sweet thoughts o'er his bosom's chortis, 

As aught that's named in song to us affords ! 

Dear shall that river's margin be to liim, 

MTiere sportive first he bathed his boTv-ish limb, 

Or petted birds, still brighter than their bowers. 

Or twined liis tame young kangaroo with flowers. 

But more magnetic yet to memory 

Shall be the sacred S])ot, still blooming nigh. 

The bower of love, where first his bosom biirned, 

And smiling passion saw its smile returned. 

Go forth and jirospcr then, emprising band : 

May He, who in the hollow of 1 lis hand 

The ocean holds, and rules the wloirlwind's sweep, 

Assuage its wrath, and guide you on the deep I 



LINES 

ON HEVISITINO CAXnCART. 



Oh ! scenes of my cliildhood, and dear to my heart 
Ye green waving woods on the margin of Cart, 
How blest in the morning of life I have strayed, 
By the stream of the vale and the grass-covered glad<- \ 



260 CAMPBELL'3 P0EM3. 

Then, then every rapture was young and sincere, 
Ere the sunshine of bliss was bedimmed by a tear, 
And a sweeter delight every scene seemed to lend, 
That the mansion of peace was the home of a piuext> 

Now the scenes of my childhood, and dear to my heart, 
All pensive I visit, and sigh to depart ; 
Their flowers seem to languish, their beauty to cease, 
For a stranger inhabits the mansion of peace. 

But hushed be the sigh that untimely complains, 
While Friendship and all its enchantment remains, 
While it blooms like the flower of a winterless clim«. 
Untainted by chance, unabated by time. 



THE CHERUBS. 

gUGGESTED BY AN APOLOGUE IN THE WOKKS iiV 
FRANKLIN. 

Two spirits reached this world of ours*. 
The lightning's locomotive powers 

Were slow to their agility : 
In broad daylight they moved incog, 
Enjoying, without mist or fog. 

Entire inAosibility. 

The one, a simple cherub lad, 
Much interest in our planet had, 

Its face was so romantic ; 
He couldn't persuade liimself that maa 
Was such as lieavenly rumors ran, 

A being base and frantic. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. *>61 

The elder spirit, wise and cool, 
Brought down the youth as to a school ; 

But strictly on condition, 
"Whatever they should see or hear, 
With mortals not to interfere ; 

'Twas not in their commission. 

They reached a sovereign city proud. 
Whose emperor prayed to God aloud, 

With all his people kneeling, 
And priests perfonned religious rites : 
" Come," said the younger of the sprites, 

"This shows a pious feeling." 

YOUNO SPIRIT. 

" Ar'n't these a decent godly race ? " 

OLD SPIBJT. 

The direst thieves on Nature's face." 

YOUNG SPIRIT. 

" But hark, what cheers they're giving 
Their emperor ! — And is he a thief ? " 

OLD SPIRIT. 

" Ay, and a cut-th-roat too ; — in briefi 
The greatest scoundrel living. " 

YOUNG spirit. 

*'But say, what were they praying fo», 
This people and their emperor ? " 

old spirit. 
"Why, but for God's assistance 
To help their army, late sent out : 
And what that army is about. 
You'll see at no great distance.'* 



2G2 Campbell's poems. 

On wings outspeeding mail or post, 
Our sprites o'ertook the Imperial host; 

In massacres it wallowed : 
A noble nation met its hordes, 
But broken fell their cause and swords, 

Unfortimate, though hallowed. 

They saw a late bombarded town, 

Its streets still wai-m with blood ran down; 

Still smoked each burning rafter ; 
And liideously, 'midst rape and sack, 
The murderer's laughter answered back 

His prey's convTilsive laughter. 

They saw the captive eye the dead, 
With envy of his gory bed, — 

Death's quick reward of bravery : 
They heard the clank of chains, and then 
Saw thirty thousand bleeding men 

Dragged manacled to slavery. 

" Fie ! fie ! " the yoimger heavenly spark 
Exclaimed — "we must have missed our m&rk 

And entered hell's own portals : 
Earth can't be stained by crimes so black; 
Nay, siu-e, we've got among a pack 

Of fiends and not of mortals." 

♦• No," said the elder ; "no such thing : 
Fiends are not fools enough to wring 

The necks of one another : — 
They know their interests too well : 
Men fight ; but every devil in hell 

Lives friendly with his brother. 

♦* And I could point you out some fellows. 
On this ill-fated planet Tell us, 



Campbell's poems. 2C3 

In royal power that revel, 
\NTio, at the openmg of the book 
Of judgment, may have cause to look 

With envy at the devil." 

Name but the devil, and he'll appsax, 
Old Satan in a trice was near, 

With smutty face and figure : 
But spotless spirits of the skies, 
Unseen to e'en his saucer eyes, 

Could watch the fiendish nigger. 

"Halloo!" he cried, "I smell a trick: 
A mortal siipersedes Old Nick, 

The scourge of earth appoiiited : 
He robs mo of my trade, entrants 
The blasphemy of heU, and vauiTts 

Himself the Lord's anointed. 

'« Folks make a fuss about my mischief : 
D— d fools, they tamely suffer this chief 

To play his pranks ujibounded." 
The cherubs flew ; but saw from high. 
At human inhtunanity, 

The devil liimself astounded. 



SENEX'S SOLH^OQUY ON HIS YOUTH- 
FUL IDOL. 

Platonic friendship at your years. 
Says Conscience, should content ye; 

Nay, name not fondness to her ears, 
The darling's scarcely twenty. 



264 CA 51 PB ell's rOEMS. 

Yes, and she'll loathe me unforgiven^ 
To dote thus out of season ; 

But beauty is a beam from heaven, 
That dazzles blind ouj reason. 

rU challenge Plato from the skies, 
Yes, from his spheres harmonic, 

To look in M — y C 's eyes, 

And try to be Platonic. 



TO SIR FRANCIS BmiDElT, 

ON HIS SPEECH DELITED IN PARLIAMENT, AUGUST 7, 183 2, 
RESPECTING THE FOREIGN POLICY OF GREAT UKITAIN. 

BxTRDETT, enjoy thy justly foremost fame, 

Tlirough good and ill report — through calm and 
storm — 

For forty yeai-s the pilot of reform ! 
But that which shall afresh entwine thy name 

With patriot laurels never to be sere, 
Is that thou hast come nobly forth to chide 
Oiu- slimibering statesmen for their lack of pride — 

Their HatteiT- of Oppressors, and their fear — 
When Britam's lifted finger, and her fi-own, 
Might call the nations up, and cast tlieir tj-rauts down I 

Invoke the scorn — Alas ! too few inherit 
The scorn for despots cherished oy our sires, 
That baffled Europe's persecuting fires, 

And sheltered helpless states ! — P^ecaU that sjiint. 
And conjure back Old England's haughty min-« 



Campbell's poems. 265 

Convert tlie men who waver now, and pause 

Between their love of self and human kind ; 
Ajid move, Amphion-like, those hearts of stone — 
The hearts that have been deaf to Poland's dying gioao 

Tell them, we hold the Kights of Man too dear. 

To bless ourselves with lonely freedom blest ; 

But could we hox^e, with sole and selfish brcjust, 
To breathe untroubled Freedom's atmosphere ? — 

Suppose we wished it? England could not stand 
A lone oasis in the desert ground 
Of Etirope's slavery; from the waste around 

Oppression's fiery blast and whirling sand 
Would reach and scathe us ! No ; it may not be : 
Britannia and the world conjointly must be free! 

Burdett, demand why Britons send abroad 
Soft greetings to th' infaiiticidal Czar, 
The Bear on Poland's babes that wages war I 
Once, we are told, a mother's shriek o'eraAved 

A lion, and he dropped her lifted cliild ; 
But Nicholas, whom neither God nor law, 
Nor Poland's shrieking mothers overawe, 
Outholds to us Ms friendship's gory clutch : 
Shrink, Britirin — shiink, my kiiig and country, from 
the touch ! 

He prays to Heaven for England's king, he says — 
And dares he to the God of mercy kneel, 
Besmeared with massacres from head to heel? 

No ! Moloch is his god — to liim he praj-s ; 

And if his weird-like prayers had power to bring 

An influence, their power wotdd be to ciuse. 

His hate is baleful, but his love is worse — 
A ser])ent's slaver deadlier than its sting ! 

Oh, feeble statesmen ! ignominious times ! 

That lick the tyrant's feet, and smile upon his crimes ! 
23 



2GG Campbell's poems, 



ODE TO THE GERMANS. 

I'he Spirit of Britannia 

Invokes across the main, 
Her sister Allemannia 

To burst the Tyrant's chain: 
By our kindred blood, she cries, 
Rise, AUemannians, rise ! 

And hallowed thrice the band 
Of our kindred hearts shall be, 

When your land shall be the land 
Of the free — of the free! 

With Freedom's lion-banner 

Britannia rules the waves ; 
Whilst yoiir Bro.u) stone of honob « 

Is still the camp of slaves. 
For shame, for glory's sake, 
Wake, AUemannians, wake ! 

And thy tyrants now that whelm 
Half the world shall quail and flee, 

When your realm shall be the realm 
Of the free — of the free! 

Mars owes to you his thunder f 

That shakes the battle-field ; 
Yet to break your bonds asunder 

No martial bolt has pealed. 
Shall the laurelled land of art 
Wear shackles on her heart? 

No ! the clock ye framed to tell 

» Ehrenbreitslein signifies, in German, '-the broad stone of honof '-' 
^ Oormany invented gunpowder, clock-making, and printing. 



Campbell's poems. 267 

By its sound, the march of Time, 
Let it clang Oppression's knell 

O'er your clime — o'er your clime I . 

The press's magic letters, 

That blessing ye brought forth, 
Behold! it Hes in fetters 

On the soil that gave it birth I 
But the trumpet must be heard, 
And the charger must be spurred; 

For your father Armia's Sprite 
Calls down from heaven, that ye 

Shall gird you for the fight, 

And be free ! — and be free I 



LLNES, 



>W A PICrrORE OF A aiRL IN THE ATTITUDE OP PKATBB, 
BY THE ABTI8T GRUSB, IN THE POSSESSION OP LADl 
STEPNEY. 

Was man e'er doomed that beauty made 

By mimic art should haunt him; 
Like Orpheus, I adore a shade, 

And dote upon a phantom. 

Thou maid that in my inmost thought 

Art fancifully sainted, 
WTiy liv'st thou not — why art thou nought 

But canvass sweetly painted ? 



268 Campbell's poems. 

Wliose looks seem lifted to the skies, 
Too pure for love of mortals — 

As if they drew angelic eyes 

To greet thee at heaven's portals* 

Yet loveliness has here no grace. 

Abstracted or ideal — 
Art ne'er but from a living face 

Drew looks so seeming real. 

What wert thou, maid? — thy life — thy name 

Oblivion hides in mystery ; 
Though from thy face my heart could frame 

A long romantic history. 

Transported to thy time I seem, 
Though dust thy coffin covers — 

And hear the songs, in fancy's dream. 
Of thy devoted lovers. 

How witching must have been thy breath — - 

How sweet the hving charmer, 
"Whose every semblance after death 

Can make the heart grow warmer! 

Adieu, the charms that vainly move 

My soul in their possession — 
That prompt my lips to speak of love, 

Yet rob them of expression. 

Yet thee, dear picture, to have praised 

Was but a poet's duty ; 
And shame to him that ever gazed 

Impassive on thy beauty. 



Campbell's poBisst 269 

LINES, 

ON THE VIEW PROM 8T. LEONABD'*. 

Witt, to thy face and odors, glorious Sea! 
'Twere thanklessness in me to bless thee not, 
Great beauteous Being I in whose breath and smUe 
My heart beats calmer, and my very mind 
Inhales salubrious thoughts. How welcomer 
Thy murmurs than the murmurs of the world ! 
Though like the world thou fluctuatest, thy dia 
To me is peace, thy restlessness repose. 
Ev'n gladly I exchange yon spring- green lanes, 
"With all the darling field-flowers in their prime. 
And gardens haunted by the nightingale's 
Long trills and gushing ecstacies of song, 
For these Mild headlands, and the sea-mew's clang. 

With thee beneath my windows, pleasant Sea, 

I long not to o'erlook earth's fairest glades 

And green savannalis — earth has not a plain 

So boundless or so beautiful as thine; 

The eagle's vision can not take it in : 

The lightning's wing, too weak to sweep its space^ 

Sinks half-way o'er it like a wearied bird: 

It is the mirror of the stars, where all 

Their hosts within the concave firmament. 

Gay marching to the music of the spheres. 

Can see themselves at once. 

Nor on the stage 
Of rural landscape are there lights and shades 
Of more harmonious dance and play than thine. 
How vividly this moment brightens forth, 
28* 



270 Campbell's poems. 

BetM'een gi-ay parallel and leaden breadths, 
A belt of hues that stripes thee many a league, 
Flushed like the rainbow, or the ring-dove's neck, 
And giving to the glancing sea-bird's wing 
The semblance of a meteor. 

Mighty Sea ! 
Chameleon-like thou changest, but there's love 
In all thy change, and constant sympathy 
With yonder Sky — thy ISIistress ; from her bro-w 
Thou tak'st thy moods and wear'st her colors on 
Thy faithfvd bosom ; — morning's milky white, 
Noon's sapphire, or the saffron glow of eve ; 
And all thy balmier hours, fair Element, 
Have such divine complexion — crisped smiles, 
Luxuriant hea^dngs, and sweet whisperings, 
That little is the wonder Love's oa'vti Queen 
From thee of old was fabled to have spnmg — ■ 
Creation's common ! wliich no human power 
Can parcel or enclose ; the lordliest floods 
And cataracts that the tiny hands of man 
Can tame, conduct, or bound, are drops of dew 
To thee that couldst subdue the earth itseK, 
And brook'st commandment from the heavens alone 
For marshalling thy waves — 

Yet, potent Sea 1 
How placidly thy moist lips speak, ev'n now 
Along yon sparkling shingles. Wlio can be 
So fancUess as to feel no gratitude 
That power and grandeur can be so serene, 
Soothing the home- bound nayj'-'s peaceful way^ 
And rocking ev'n the fisher's httle bark 
As gently as a mother rocks her child? — 

The inhabitants of other worlds behold 
Out orb more lucid for thy spacious share 



^UPBE I. l's poems. 271 

On eartli's rotundity ; and is he not 

A. blind worm in the dust, great Deep, the man 

Wlio sees not, or who seeing has no joy 

In thy magnincence ? AMiat though thou art 

Unconscioas and material, thou canst reach 

The imuost immaterial mind's recess, 

And mth thy tints and motion stir its chord* 

To music, like the light on Memnon's lyre I 

The Spirit of the Universe in thee 
Is visible; thou hast in thee the life — 
Tir eternal, graceful, and majestic life 
Of nature, and the natnral human heart 
Is therefore bound to thee with holy love. 

Earth has her gorgeous towns : th' earth -circling sea 
Has spires and mansions more amusive stiU — 
Men's volant homes that measure hquid space 
On wheel or wing. The chariot of the land 
With pained and panting steeds and clouds of diist 
Has no sight- gladdening motion like these fair 
Careerers ^^dth the foam beneath their bows, 
^\^lose streaming ensigns charm the waves by day, 
Whose carols and whose watch-bells cheer the nigl t, 
Moored as they cast the shadows of their masts 
In long array, or hither flit and yond 
Mysteriously with slow and crossing lights, 
like spirits on the darkness of the deep. 

rhere is a magnet-like attraction in 

These waters to the imaginative power 

That hnks the viewless with the visible, 

And pictures things unseen. To realms beyond 

Ton highway of the world my fancy fUes, 

When by her taU and triple mast Ave know 

Some noble voyager that has to woo 

The trade- winds and to stem the ecliptic surg» 



272 Campbell's poems. 

Tlie coral groves — the shores of conch and pearl, 
"Wliere she will cast her anchor and reflect 
Her cabm- window lights on warmer waves, 
And under planets brighter than our own : 
The nights of palmy isles, that she will see 
Lit boundless by the fire-fly — all the smells 
Of tropic fruits that will regale her — all 
The pomp of nature, and the inspiriting 
"Varieties of life she has to greet, 
Come swarming o'er the meditative mind. 

True, to the dream of Fancy, Ocean has 

His darlcer tints; but where' s the element 

That checkers not its usefulness to man 

With casual terror? Scathes not Earth sometimes 

Her children with Tartarean fires, or shakes 

Their shrieking cities, and, with one last clang 

Of bells for their own ruin, strews them flat 

As riddled ashes — silent as the grave? 

Walks not Contagion on the Air itself? 

I should — old Ocean's Satui-nalian days 

And roaring nights of revelry and sport 

With wreck and human wo — be loath to sing; 

For they are few, and all their ills weigh light 

Against his sacred usefulness, that bids 

Our pensile globe revolve in piirer air. 

Here Mom and Eve with blushing thanks receive 

Their freshening dews, gay fluttering breezes cool 

Their wings to fan the brow of fevered climes. 

And here the Spring dips down her emerald urn 

For showers to glad the earth. 

Old Ocean was 
Infinity of ages ere we breathed 
Existence — and he will be beautiful 
When all the living world that sees him nomr 
Shall roll unconscious dust around the sun. 



Campbell's poems. 273 

Quelling from age to age the vital tlrrob 

In human hearts, Death shall not subjugate 

The pulse that swells in his stupendous breast, 

Or interdict his minstrelsy to sound 

In thundering concert with the quiring winds ; 

But long as Man to parent Nature owns 

Instinctive homage, and in times beyond 

The power of thought to reach, bard after bard 

Shall sing thy glory, B^A-tlfic Sea. 



THE DEAD EAGLE. 



WRITTEN AT ORAK. 



Fall'n as he is, this king of birds £till seems 

Like royalty in ruins. Though his eyes 

Are shut, that look undazzled on the 'sun, 

He was the sultan of the sky, and earth 

Paid tribute to his eyry. It was perched 

Higher than human conqueror ever built 

His bannered fort. Where Atlas' top looks o'ei 

Zahara's desert to the equator's line, 

"From thence the "winged despot marked his prey, 

Above th' encampments of the Bedouins, eie 

Their watch-fires were extinct, or camels knelt 

To take their loads, or horsemen scoured the plam. 

And there he dried his feathers in the dawn, 

Whilst yet th' imwakened world was dark below. 

There's such a charm in natural strength and power, 
That human fancy has for ever paid 



274 



CA Ml BELL'S POEMS 



Poetic homage to the bird of Jove. 

Hence, 'neath his image, Rome arrayed liei turms 

And cohorts for the conquest of the world. 

And figuring his flight, the mind is filled 

With thoughts that mock the pride of wingless man. 

True, the. carred aeronaut can mount as high ; 

But ^^'hat's the triumph of his volant art? 

A rash intrusion on the realms of air. 

His helmless vehicle, a silken toy, 

A bubble bursting in the thunder-cloud ; 

His course has no voUtion, and he drifts 

The passive plaything of the winds. Not such 

Was this proud bird : he- clove the adverse storm. 

And cuffed it with his •\\'ing8. He stopped his flight 

As easily as the Arab reins his steed, 

And stood at pleasure 'neath Heaven's zenith, like 

A Limp suspended from its azure dome. 

"Whilst imderneath him the world's mountains lay 

Like mole-hills, and her streams like lucid tlireads; 

Then downward, faster than a falling star, 

He neared the earth, until his shape distinct 

Was blackly 'shadowed on the sunny ground; 

And dcepca- terror hushed the wilderness. 

To hear his nearer whoop. Then, up again 

He soared and wheeled. There was an air of scorn 

In all his movements, whether he threw round 

His crested head, to look behind him, or 

Lay s'crtical, and sportively displayed 

The inside wliiteness of his wing declined. 

In gyres and undulations full of grace. 

An object beautifying Heaven itself. 

He — reckless who was victor, and above 

The hearing of their guns — saw fleets engaged 

In flaming combat. It was nought to him 

."WTiat carnage, Moor or Christian, strewed their decks 

But if his intellect had matched his wings, 



Campbell's poems. 275 

Metliinks he wou.d have scorned man's vaunted powei 
To plough the deep; his pinions bore him down 
To Algiers the warlike, or the coral groves 
That blush beneath the green of Eona's waves; 
And traversed in an hour a wider space 
Thaji yonder gallant ship, with all her sails 
Wooing the winds, can cross from mom till eve. 
ffis bright eyes were his compass, earth his chart, 
His talons anchored on the stormiest cliif, 
And on the very light-house rock he perched, 
When winds churned white the waves. 



The earthquake's self 
Disturbed not him that memorable day, 
When, o'er yon table-land, where Spain had tuilt 
Cathedrals, cannoned forts, and palaces, 
A palsy-stroke of Natiire shook Oran, 
Turning her city to a sepulchre, 
A.nd strewing into rubbish all her homes, 
Amidst whose traceable foundations now, 
Of streets and squares, the hyaena hides himself. 
That hoxir beheld him fly as careless o'er 
The stifled shrieks of thousands buried quick, 
As lately when he pounced the speckled snake, 
Coiled in yon mallows and vdde nettle fields 
That mantle o'er the dead old Spanish town. 



Strange is the imagination's dread delight 

In objects linked with danger, death, and pain t 

Freeh from the luxuries of polished life, 

The echo of these \\ilds enchanted me; 

And my heart beat A^ith joy when first 1 heard 

A lion's roar come down the Lybian wind, 

Across yon long, ^-ide, lonely inland lake, 

Where boat ne'er saiis from homeless shore to show 



276 Campbell's I'^ems. 

Aiid yet Numidia's landscape has its spots 

Of pastoral pleasantness — though fax between ; 

The village planted near the Maraboot's 

Round roof has aye its feathery palm trees 

Paired, for in solitude they bear no fruits. 

Here nature's hues all harmonize — fields Avhito 

With alasum, or blue with bugloss — banks 

Of glossy fennel, blent with tidips -wild, 

A.nd sunflowers, like a garment pranked with gold 

Acres and miles of opal asphodel 

Where sports and couches the black-eyed gazelle. 

Here, too, the air's harmonious — deep-toned dovf* 

Coo to the fife-like carol of the lark ; 

And when they cease, the holy nightingale 

Winds up his long, long shakes of ecstacy, 

With notes that seem but the protracted sounds 

Of glassy runnels bubbling over rocks. 



SONG. 



T: Love in my heart, I exclaimed, t'other morning, 
Thou hast dwelt here too long, little lodger, take warn- 
ing ; 
Thou shalt tempt me no more from my life's sober duty, 
To go gadding, bewitched by the young eyes of beauty. 
For weary's the wooing, ah ! weary, 
When an old man will have a yoimg dearie. 

The god left my heart, at its surly reflections, 

But came back on pretext of some sweet recollectioM, 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



277 



A-nd he made me forget what I ought to rememhei, 
That the rose-bud of June can not bloom in November. 
Ah ! Tom, 'tis all o'er with thy gay days — 
Write psalms, and not songs for the ladies. 

Biit time's been so far from my wisdom enriching, 
riiat the longer I live, beauty seems more bewitching 
And the only new lore my experience traces, 
Is to find fresh enchantment in magical faces. 

How weary is msdom, how weary ! 

\Vhen one sits by a smiling young dearie ! 

And should she be wroth that my homage pursues hei 
I ^^'ill turn and retort on my lovely accuser ; 
Who's to blame, that my heart by yo\ir image is haunted 
It is you, the enchantress — not I, thp enchanted. 

Would you have me behave more discreetly, 

Beauty, look not so killingly sweetly. 



LINES. 

WBITTEN IN A BLANK LEAP OP LA PEROXTSE's VOYAOBa 

liOVED Voyager! his pages had a zest 
More sweet tlian fiction to my wondering breast, 
When, rapt in fancy, many a boyish day 
T tracked his wanderings o'er the watery way. 
Roamed round the Aleutian isles in waking dreama, 
Or plucked the Jletcr-de-lys by Jesso's streams — 
Or gladly Icajjed on that far Tartar strand 
Where Europe's ancnor ne er had bit the sand, 
24 



278 Campbell's poems, 

Wliere scarce a roving wild tribe crossed the plain. 

Or liuman voice broke nature's silent reign ; 

But vast and grassy deserts feed the bear, 

And sweeping deer-herds dread no hunter's snare. 

Such young delight his real records brought, 

His truth so touched romantic springs of thought, 

That aU my after-life — his fate and fame 

Entwmed romance Math La Perouse's name, — 

Fair were his ships, expert his gallant crews. 

And glorious was the emprise of La Perouse, — 

Humanely glorious ! Men vnR weep for him, 

When many a guilty martial fame is dim : 

He ploughed the deep to bind no captive's chain — 

Pursued no rapine — strewed no wreck with slain ; 

And, save that in the deep themselves lie low, 

His heroes plucked no wreath from human wo. 

'Twas his the earth's remotest bound to scan, 

Conciliating with gifts barbaric man — 

Enrich the world's contemporaneous mind, 

And amplify the picture of manldnd. 

Far on the vast Pacitic — 'midst those isles, 

O'er which the earliest mom of Asia smiles, 

He sounded and gave charts to many a shore 

And gulf of Ocean new to iiautic lore ; 

Yet he that led Discovery o'er the wave. 

Still fills hims-elf an undiscovered grave. 

He came not back, — Conjecture's cheek grew pale, 

Year after year — in no propitious gale 

His lilied banner held its homeward way, 

Ana Science saddened at her martyr's stay. 

An age elapsed — no wreck told where or when 
The chief went down with all his gallant men, 
Or whether by the storm and ^^^ld sea flood 
He perished, or by wilder men of blood : 
The shuddering Fancy only guessed his doom. 
And Doubt to Sorrow gave but deeper gloom. 



CAMrBELl^'a POEMS. 279 

A-n age elapsed — when men were dead oi gray, 

WQiose hearts had monmed him in their youthful liayi 

Fame traced, on Mannicolo's shore, at last, 

The boiling surge had mounted o'er his mast. 

The islesmen told of some surviving men, 

But Christian eyes beheld them ne'er agiun. 

ead bourne of all his toils — mth all his band- 

To sleep, ^^Tecked, shroudless, on a savage strand I 

Yet what is all that fires a hero's scorn 

Of death r — the hope to live in hearts unborn • 

Life to the brave is not its fleetuig breath, 

But worth — foretasting fame, that follows death. 

That worth had La Perouse — that meed he wor. ; 

He sleeps — his life's long stormy watch is done 

In the great deep, whose boiondaries and space 

He measured. Fate ordained his restmg-place ; 

But bade his fame, like th' Ocean rolhng o'er 

His reUcs — visit every earthly shore. 

Fair Science, on that Ocean's azuie robe, 

Still \mtes his name in picturing the globe, 

And paints — (what fairer A\Teath could glor^ twine?) 

His wateiy course — a world- encircling line. 



280 CAM rn ell's poems 



THE PILGRBI OF GLENCOE.* 

The sunset sheds a horizontal smile 

O'er Highland frith and Hebridean isle, 

While, gay with gambols of its finny shoRlfl, 

The glancing ^yaxe rejoices as it rolls 

With streain6red busses, that distinctly shine 

AU do^vnward, pictured in the glassy brine; 

Whose crews, with faces brightening in the iun, ^ 

Keep measure A\ith their oars, and all in one 

Strike up th' old Gaelic song : — Sweep, rowers, sw ^p ! 

The fisher's gloiious spoils are in the deep. 

Day sinks — but twilight owes the traveller soon, 
To reach his bourne, a round unclouded moon, 
Bespeaking long undarkened hours of time ; 
False hope ! — the Scots are steadfast — not their cLLmc 

A war-worn soldier fiom the western land, 

Seeks Cona's vale by Ballihoula's strand; 

The vale, by eagle-haunted cliffs o'erhung, 

Wliere Fingal fought and Oasian's harp was stniTjg — 

Otu- veteran's forehead, bronzed on sultry plains, 

Had stood the brunt of thirty fought campaigns ; 



• 1 received the substance of tbf^ tradition on which tnis Poem is 
(oanded, in the first instance. frm»» n friend in London, who wrote to 
Matthew N. Macdonald, Esq., of F'dinburg-h lie had the kindness to 
•end me a circumstantial account of the tradition ; and tliatgentlenian's 
knowledge of the Highlands, at, weu as his particular acquaintance 
with the district of Glencoe, leave ine no doubt of the incident having 
really happened. I have not depariwrt from the main facts of the tradi- 
tion as reported to me by Mr Macdonald ; only I liave endeavored to 
color the personages of the story, and to make them as distiiictive aa 
possible. 



Campbell's poems. 281 

He well coxild vouch, the sad romance of wars. 

And count the dates of battles by his scars ; 

For he had ser^'ed where o'er and o'er again 

Britannia's oriflamme had ht the plain 

Of glory — and victorious stamped her name 

On Oudenarde's and Blenheim's fields of fame. 

Nine times in battle-field his blood had streamed, 

Yet \'i\id still his veteran blue eye gleamed ; 

Full well he bore liis knapsack — \inoppressed, 

And marched with soldier-like erected crest : 

Nor sign of ev'n loquacious age he wore, 

Save when he told his life's adventures o'er; 

Some tired of these; for terms to him were dear. 

Too tactical by far for -snilgar ear ; 

As when he talked of rampart and ra^'ine, 

And trenches fenced with gabion and fascine — 

But when his theme possessed him all and whole 

Ho scorned proud puzzling words and warmed the soul 

Hushed groups hung on his lips with fond surprise, 

That sketched old scenes — like pictures to their eyes; - 

The wide war-plain, -udth banners glossing bright, 

And bayonets to the furthest stretch of sight ; 

The pause, more dreadful than the peal to come 

From volleys blazing at the beat of dnim — 

TUl all the field of thundering lines became 

Two level and confronted sheets of flame. 

Tlien to the charge, when Marlboro's hot pursuit 

Trode France s gilded IQies imderfoot ; 

lie came and kindled — and \vith martial lung 

Would chant the very march their trumpets sung. 



The old soldier hoped, er6 evening's hght should fail, 
To reach a home, south-east of Cona's vale ; 
But looking at Bcnnevis, capped with snow, 
He saw *ts mist come curling down, below, 
Ajid spread white darkness o'er the sunset glow ; - 
24* 



282 

Fast roUirig like tempestuous Ocean's spraj 
Or clouds from troops iii battle's fiery day — 
So dense, his quarry, 'scaped the falcon's sight, 
Ihe owl alone exulted, hating light. 

Benighted thus our pilgrim groped his ground, 
Half 'twixt the river's and the cataract's soimd. 
At last a sheep-dog's bark informed his ear 
Some human habitation might be near ; 
Anon sheep-bleatings rose from rock to rock, — 
'Twas Luath hounding to their fold the flock. 
Ere long the cock's obstreperous clarion rang, 
And next, a maid's sweet voice, that spinning sang: 
At last, amidst the greensward, (gladsome sight ! ) 
A cottage stood, ^\ith straw-roof golden briglit. 

He knocked, was welcomed in ; none asked his name, 

Nor whither he v.'as bound, nor whence he came; 

But he was beckoned to the stranger's seat, 

Right side the chimney fire of blazing peat. 

Blest Hospitality makes not her home 

In walled parks and castellated dome ; 

She flies the city's needy greedy crowd. 

And shuns still more the mansions of the proiid ; — 

The balm of savage or of simple hie, 

A. wild-flov/er cut by culture's pohshed knife ! 

The house, no common sordid shieling cot, 
Spoke inmates of a comfortable lot ; 
TKj Jacobite wliite rose festooned their door ; 
rhe windoAVS Siislied and glazed, the oaken floor, 
rhe chimney graced with antlers of tlie deer, 
The ral'tcrs hung with meat for -winter cheer, 
And all the mansion, indicated plain 
Its master a superior shepherd sSvain. 

Their supper came -=- the table soon was spread 
With eggs, and milk, ard cheese, and barley bread. 



Campbell's poems. 2Si 

The family were tliree — a father hoar, 

Whose age you'd guess at seventy years or more, 

His son looked Mty — cheerful like her lord, 

His comely wife presided at the board ; 

All three had that peculiar courteous grace 

Which marks the meanest of the Higliland race ; 

Warm hearts that bum alike in weal and wo. 

As if the north-mnd fanned their bosoms' glow ! 

But wide unlike their souls : old Norman's eye 

Was proudly savage even in courtesy. 

His sine^vy shoulders — each, though aged and lean, 

Broad as the curled Herculean head between, — 

His scornfid lip, his eyes of yellow fire, 

And nostrils that dilated quick uith ire. 

With ever downward-slanting shaggy brows, 

Marked the old lion you woidd diead to rouse 

Norman, in truth, had led his earlier life 

In raids of red revenge and feudal strife ; 

Religious duty in revenge he saw, 

Proud Honor's right and Nature's honest law. 

First in the charge and foremost in pursuit. 

Long-breathed, deep-chested, and in speed of foot 

A match for stags — still fleeter when the prey 

Was man, in persecution's evxL day; 

Cheered to that chase by brutal bold Dundee, 

No Highland hound had lapped more blood than ha 

Oft had he changed the covenanter's breath 

From howls of psalmody to howls of deatli ; 

And thougli long bound to peace, it irked him still 

His dirk had ne'er one hated foe to kiU. 



Yet Norman had fierce virtues, that would mock 
Cold-blooded tories of the modern stock. 
Who stai-ve the brcadless poor with fraud and cant ; — 
He slew and saved )^hcm from the pangs of want 



284 Campbell's poems 

Nor was his solitary lawless charm 

Mere dauntlessness of soul and strength of ann ^ 

He had his moods of kindness now and then, 

And feasted even well-mannered lowland men 

Who blew not up his Jacobitish flame, 

Nor prefaced with " pretender " Charles's name. 

Fierce, but by sense and kindness not unwon, 

He loved, respected even, his wiser son ; 

And brooked from him expostulations sage, 

When all advisers else were spumed with rage. 

Far happier times had moulded Ronald's mind. 

By nature too of more sagacious kind. 

His breadth of brow, and Roman shape of chin. 

Squared weU with the firm man that reigned witliin 

Contemning strife as childishness, he stood 

With neiglibors on kind terms of neighborhood, 

And whilst his father's anger nought availed, 

His rational remonstrance never failed. 

Full skilfully he managed farm and fold. 

Wrote, ciphered, profitably bought and sold ; 

And, blessed ^^ith pastoral leisure, deeply took 

Dehght to be informed, by speech or book, 

Of that wide world beyond his mountain home. 

Where oft his curious fancy loved to roam. 

Oft while his faithful dog ran round his flock. 

He read long hours when summer warmed the rock : 

Guests who could tell him aught were welcomed warta 

Even pedlers' news had to his mind a charm ; 

That like an intellectual mag-net-stone 

Drew truth from judgments simpler than his own- 

His soul's proud instinct sought not to enjoy 
Romantic fictiors, Kke a minstrel boy ; 
Truth, standing on her solid square, from youth. 
He worshipped — stem uncompromising truth. 



CAMPBELL' 3 POEMS. 28i3 

His goddess kindlier smiled on him, to find 
A votary of her light in land so bHnd ; 
She bade majestic History unroll 
Broad views of pubhc welfai-e to his soul, 
Untn he looked on clannish feuds and foes 
With scorn, as on the wars of kites and crows : 
Whilst doubts assailed him, o'er and o'er again. 
If men were made for kings, or kings for men ; 
At last, to Norman's horror and dismay, 
He flat denied the Stuarts' right to sway. 

No blow-pipe ever whitened fiimace fire 

Quick as these words lit up his father's ire; 

Who envied even old Abraham for his faith, 

Ordained to put his only son to death. 

He started up — in such a mood of soul 

The white-bear bites liis sho^Tnan's stirring pole ; 

He danced too, and brought out, with snarl and howl, 

" O Dia ! Dia ! and Dioul ! Dioul ! " * 

But sense foils fury — as the blowing whale 

Spouts, bleeds, and dyes the waves mthout avail — 

Wears out the cable's length that makes him fast. 

But, worn himself, comes up harpooned at last — 

Ev'n so, devoid of sense, succumbs at length 

Mere strength of zeal to intellectual strength. 

His son's close logic so perplexed his pate, 

The ©id hero rather shunned than sought debate; 

Exhausting his vocabulary's store 

Of oaths and -lick-names, he could say no more, 

But tapped his mull,t rolled mutely in his chair, 

Or only whistled KiUicranky's air. 

Witch legends Ronald scorned — ghost, kelpie, wraitli, 
And all the trumpery of vulgar faith ; 

• God and the devil — a favorite ejdculalion of Highland sauito. 
t Snuff- liorii. 



286 Campbell's poems. 

Grave matrons ev'n were shocked to hear him slight 

Authenticated facts of second-sight — 

Yet never flinched his mockery to confoimd 

The brutal superstition reigning round. 

Reserved himself, still Konald loved to scan 

Men's natures — and he liked the old hearty ncan 

So did the partner of his heart and life — 

Who pleased her Ronald, ne'er displeased his wife. 

Ills sense, 'tis true, compared mth Norman's son. 

Was common-place — his tales too long outspun: 

Yet Allan Campbell's sympathizing mind 

Had held large intercourse with hxmian kind ; 

Seen much, and gayly, graphically drew 

The men of every country, clime, and hue ; 

Xor ever stooped, though soldier-like his strain, 

To ribaldry of mirth or oath profane. 

All went harmonious till the guest began 

To talk about his kindred, chief, and clan; 

And, with his own biography engrossed. 

Marked not the changed demeanor of each host ; 

Nor bow old choleric Norman's cheek became 

Flushed at the Campbell and Breadalbane name ; 

Assigning, heedless of impending harm, 

Theii" steadfast silence to his story's charm ; 

He touched a subject perilous to touch — 

Sajing, " 'Ivlidst this well-known vale I wondered m ucii 

To lose my way. In boyhood, long ago, 

I roamed, and loved each pathway of Glencoe ; 

Trapped leverets, plucked ^'ild berries on its braeSj 

And fished along its banks long sununer days. 

But times grew stormy — bitter feuds arose, 

Our clan was merciless to prostrate foes. 

I never palliated my cliieftain's blame. 

But mourned the sh\, and reddened for the shame 

Of that foul mom (Heaven blot it from the year ! ) 

Whose shapes and shrieks still haunt my dreaming oa/ 



Campbell's poems 287 

What could I do ? a serf — Glcnlyon's page, 

A soldier sworn at nineteen years of age ; 

T' have breathed one grieved remonstrance to our chief. 

The pit or gaUows * would have cured my giief. 

Forced, passive as the musket in my hand, 

I marched — when, feigning royalty's command, 

Agahist the clan Macdonald, Stairs' s lord . 

Sent forth extenninating fire and sword ; 

And troops at midnight through the vale defiled, 

Enjoined to slaughter woman, man, and child. 

My clansmen many a year had cause to dread 

Tlie curse that day entjiiled upon their head ; 

Glenlyon's self confessed th' avenging spell — 

I saw it light on him. 

"It so befell : — 
A soldier from our ranks to death was brought, 
By sentence deemed too dreadful for his fault? 
All was prepared — the coffin and the cart 
Stood near twelve muskets, levelled at his heart. 
The chief, whose breast for ruth had still some room, 
Obtained reprieve a day before his doom ; — 
But of th' awarded boon sumiised no breath. 
The suiferer knelt, blindfolded, waiting death, — 
And met it. Though Glenlyon had desu'cd 
The musketeers to watch before they fired ; 
If from his pocket they should hee he drew 
A handkerchief — their volley should ensue; 
But if he held a paper in its place, 
It shoi'ld be hailed the sign of pardoning grace : ■ 
He, in a fatal moment's absent fit, 
Drew forth the handkcrcliief, and not the writ ; 
Wept o'er the corpse and wrung his hands in wo. 
Crying 'Here's thy curse again, Glencoe! Glencoe ! 

• To hang their vas«als, or starve them to death in a fiiir.^ecn, wtin 
R privilege of the Highland chiefs who had hereditary jurisdictions. 



288 campbell'3 poems 

Though thus his guest spoke feelings just and c.eas. 

ITie cabin's patriarch lent impatient ear ; 

Wroth that, beneath his roof, a living man 

Should boast the swine-blood of the Campbell clan; 

He hastened to the door — called out his son 

To follow ; walked a space, and thus begun : ^ 

** You have not, Ronald, at this day to learn 

The oath I took beside my father's cairn, 

When you were but a babe, a twelvemonth bom ; - 

Sworn on my dirk — by all that's sacied, sworn 

To be revenged for blood that cries to Heaven 

Blood unforgiveable, and unforgiven ! 

But never power, since then, have I possessed 

To plant my dagger in a Campbell's breast. 

Now, here's a self-accusiag partisan. 

Steeped in the slaughter of Macdonald's clan ! 

I scorn his civil speech and sweet-lipped show 

Of pity — he is still our house's foe : 

I'll perjure not myself— but sacrifice 

The caitiff ere to-morrow's sun arise ! 

Stand ! hear me — you're my son, the deed is just \ 

And if I say — it must be done — it must : 

A debt of honor which my clansmen crave, — 

Their very dead demand it from the grave." 

Conjuring then their ghosts, he humbly prayed 

Their patience till the blood-debt should be paid. 

But Ronald stopped him. — " Sir, Sir, do not dim 

Your honor by a moment's angry w^him ; 

Your soxd's too just and generous, were you cool. 

To act at once th' assassin and the fool. 

Bring me the men on whom revenge is due, 

And I will dirk them willingly as you ! 

But aU the real authors of that black 

Old deed are gone — you can not bring them back ; 

And this poor guest, 'tis palpable to judge, 

tn all his life ne'er bore oxu* clan a grudge ; — 

Dragged, M'hen a boy, ag^ainst his wiU, to share 



cakpbell's poems. 28^ 

That massacre, he loathed the foul affair. 
Think, if your hardened heart be conscience-proof. 
To stab a stranger underneath your roof — 
One who has broken bread within your gate — 
Reflect — before reflection comes too late, — 
•Such ugly consequences there may be 
As judge and jury, rope and gallows-tree, 
rhe days of dirldng snugly are gone by : 
Where coidd you hide the body privily, 
When search is made for't ? " 

•'Plimge it in yon flood, 
TTiat Campbells crimsoned with our kindred blood." 
"Ay, but the corpse may float — " 

" Pshaw ! dead men tell 
No tales — nor ^vill it float if leaded welL 
I am determined ! " — "V^Tiat could Ronald do ? 
No house Avithin ear-reach of liis halloo ; 
Though that wotdd but have pubKshed household sham© i 
He temporized with wrath he could not tame, — 
And said, «' Come in ; till nig '.it put ofl" the deed. 
And ask a few more questions ere he bleed." 
They entered : Norman with portentous air 
Strode to a nook behind the stranger's chair. 
And, 3peaking nought, sat grimly in tte shade, 
With dagger in his clutch, beneath his plaid. 
His son's ovra plaid, should Norman pounce his pre>f 
Was coiled thick round his arm, to turn away 
Or blunt the dirk. He purposed leaving free 
The door, and giving Allan time to flee, 
Whilst he should wrestle -uith (no safe emprise) 
His father's maniac strength and giant size. 
Meanwhile he could nowise commimicate 
Th' impending peril to his anxious mate ; 
But she, convinced no trifling matter now 
Disturbed the wonted cahn of Ronald's brow 
Divined too well the cause of gloom that lowered. 
And sat with speechless terror overpowered 
2S 



L"JO C A M r B K L L S F O E M S . 

Her face was pale, &o lately blx^e and bland^ 
The stocking knittmg-wire shook in hei hand. 
But Ronald and the guest resmncd their thread 
Of converse — still its theme that day of dread. 

"Much," said the veteran, "much aa I bemoan 

That deed, when half a hundred years have fio\^n, 

Still on one circumstance I can reflect 

That mitigates the dreadful retrospect, 

A mother with her child before us flew, — 

I had the hideous mandate to pursue ; 

But swift of foot, outspeeding bloodier men, 

I chased, o'ertook her in the winding glen, 

And showed her, palpitating, where to save 

Herself and infant in a secret cave; 

Nor left them till I saw tliat they could mock 

Pursuit and search "vnthin that sheltering rock." 

" Heavens ! " Ronald cried, in accents gladly wili 

" That woman was my mother — I the child ! 

Of you, imknown by name, she late and air,* 

Spoke, wept, and ever blessed you in her prayer, 

Ev'n to her death ; describing you withal 

A well -looked florid youth, blue-eyed and tall." 

They rose, exchanged embrace: the old Hon then 

Cpstarted, metamorj^hosed, from his den ; 

Saying, " Come and make thy home Avith us for lifej 

Heaven-sent preserver of my child aiid vAJHe. 

I fear thou'rt noor — that Hanoverian thing 

Rewards his soldiers ill." — " God save the king ! " 

With hand upon his heart, old Allan said, 

" ^ear his uniform, I eat his bread, 

And whilst I've tooth to bite a cartridge, all 

For him and Britain's fame I'll stand or fall." 

^ Uravo ! " cried Ronald. " I commend your Eeal,'" 

Quoth Norman, " and I see your heart is leal | 

* Scot( h for late and early 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 291 

But I have prayed my soid may never thrive 
If thou shouldst leave this house of ours aliye. 
Nor shalt thou ; — iii thia home protract thy breath 
Of easy life, nor leave it till thy death," 

The follo's%aug mom arose serene as glass, 

jind red Bennevis shone like molten brass; 

While sunrise opened flowers with gentle force, 

The guest and Ronald walked in long discourse. 

"Words fail me," Allan said, "to thank aright 

Your father's kindness shown me yesternight; 

Yet scarce I'd msh my latest days to spend, 

A fireside JBixture, with the dearest friend : 

Besides, I've but a fortnight's furlough now, 

To reach MacaUin More,* beyond Lochawe. 

I'd fain memorialize the powers that be 

To deign remembrance of my wounds and mei 

My life-long service never bore the brand 

Of sentence — lash, disgrace, or rcj^rimand. 

And so I've written, though in meagre style, 

A long petition to his Grace Argyle ; 

I mean, on reaching Innerara's shore, 

To leave it sale mthin his castle door." 

" Nay," Ronald said, " the letter that you bear 

Intrust it to no l>"ing varlet's care; 

But say, a soldier of King George demands 

Access, to leave it in the Dvike's own hands. 

But show me, first, the epistle to your chief; 

Tis nought, unless succinctly clear and brief; 

Great men have no great patience when they reads 

And long petitions spoil the cause they plead." 

That day saw Ronald from the field full soon 
Retiurn ; and when they all had dined at noon, 

* The Duke of Argyle. 



292 CAM PB E liLi'S POEMS. 

He conned th' old man's memorial — lopped its lengtli 

Ajid gave it style, simplicity, and strength ; 

Twas finished in an hour — and in the next 

Transcribed by Allan in perspicuous text. 

At evening, he and Ronald shared once more 

A long and pleasant Avalk by Cona's shore. 

•* rd press you," quoth liis host — (*' I need not my 

How warmly) ever more with us to stay ; 

But Charles intends, 'tis said, in these same part® 

To try the fealty of our Highland hearts. 

'Tis my belief, that he and all his Kne 

Have — saving to be hanged — no right divine; 

From whose mad enterprise can only flow 

To thousands slaughter, and to mjTiads wo. 

Yet have they stirred my father's spirit sore,— 

He flints his pistols, whets his old claymore, 

And longs as ardently to join the fray 

As boy to dance who hears tlie bagpipe play. 

Though calm one day, the next, disdaining n^e,^ 

He'd gore your red coat like an angry buU : 

I told him, and he owned it might b& so, 

Youj: tempers never could in concert tiow. 

But « Mark,' he added, ♦ Ronald I from our dooip 

Let not this guest depart forlorn and poor ; 

Let not your souls the niggardness evince 

Of lowland pedler, or of German prince: 

He gave you life — then feed him as you'd feed 

Your very father were he cast in need.' 

He gave — you'll find it by youx bed to-night- 

A leathern purse of cro-wTis, all sterling bright z 

iTou see I do you kindness not by stealth. 

My wife — no advocate of squandering wealth — 

Vows that it would be parricide, or worse. 

Should we neglect you — here's a silken purse^ 

Some golden pieces through the network sliinej 

*Tis proffered to you from her heart and miae 

But come • no foolish delicacy — no ! 



CAMPBELL 3 POEMS. 293 

We own, but can not cancel what we owe ; — 
This sum shall duly reach you once a year/' 
Poor Allan's furrowed face, and flowing tear. 
Confessed sensations which he could not spe^ 
Old Norman bade h\vn farewell kindly meek. 

At mom, the smiling dame rejoiced to pack 
With viands full the old soldier's haversack. 
He feared not himgry grass* with such a load. 
And Ronald saw him miles upon his road. 

A march of three days brought him to Lochfyn©: 
Argyle, struck with his manly look benign, 
And feeling interest in the veteran's lot, 
Created him a sergeant on the spot — 
An invalid, to serve not — but with pay 
(A mighty sum to him,) twelve pence a day. 
"But have you heard not," said MacaUin More, 
"Charles Stuart's landed on Eriska's shore. 
And Jacobites are arming ? " — " ^\^lat ! indeed I 
Arrived ! then I'm no more an invalid ; ; 

My new-got halbert I must straight employ 
In battle." — " As you please, old gallant boy : 
Youx gray hairs well might plead excuse, 'tis true* 
But now's the time we want such men as you." 
In brief, at Innerara Allan stayed, 
And joined the banners of Argyle' s brigade. 

Meanwhile, th' old choleric shepherd of Glencoe 
Spumed all advice, and girt himself to go. 
What was't to liiin that foes would poind their fold, 
Their lease, their very beds beneath them sold? 
And firmly to his text he would have kept, 
Though Ronald argued and his daughter wept« 

* When the hospitable TTigfhlauders load a parting guest with prov»> 
iona, they tell him he will need them, as he hai to go over a great deal 
«f " hungry grass." 

26* 



294 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But 'midst the impotence of tears and prayer, 

Chance snatched them from proscription and despair 

Old Norman's blood was headward wont to moxmt 

Too rapid from his heart's impetuous fount ; 

And one day, whilst the German rats he ciirsed. 

An artery in his wise sensorium burst. 

Tl\e lancet saved him : but how changed, alas 1 

From him who fought at Killiecrankie's pass ! 

Tame as a spaniel, timid as a child, 

He muttered ncoherent words and smiled; 

He wept at kindness, rolled a vacant eye. 

And laughed full often when he meant to cry. 

Poor man ! whilst in this lamentable state, 

Came Allan back one morning to his gate, 

Hale and unburdened by the woes of eild, 

And fresh with credit from Culloden's field. 

'Twas feared, at first, the sight of him might touoii 

The old Macdonald's morbid mind too much ; 

But no ! though Norman knew him and disclosed, 

Ev'n rallying memory, he was still composed ; 

Asked all particulars of the fatal fight, 

And only heaved a sigh for Charles's flight ; 

Then said, vdth but one moment's pride of air, 

It might not have been so had I been there ! 

Few days elapsed till he reposed beneath 

His gray cairn, on the wild and lonely heath : 

Son, friends, and kindred, of his dust took leave, 

And Allan with the crape bound round his sleevcfc 

Old Allan now h^ing up his sergeant's sword. 
And sat, a guest for life, at Ronald's board. 
He waked no longer at the barrack's drum. 
Yet still you'd see, when peep of day was com®, 
Th' erect tall red-coat, walking pastures round. 
Or delving with his spade the garden ground. 
Of cheerful temper, habits strict and sage, 
He reached, enjoyed a patriarchal age ■— 



CAMPBELL S POEMS. 295 

Loved to the last by the Macdonalds. Near 
Their house, his stone was placed with many a tear, 
A.nd Ronald's self, in stoic virtue brave, 
Scorned not to weep at Allan Campbell's grave. 



THE CHILD AND HIND.* 

CoMK, maids and matrons, to caress 

Wiesbaden's gentle hind ; 
And, smilmg, deck its glossy neck 

With forest flowers entwined. 

Yoiir forest flowers are fair to show, 

And landscapes to enjoy; 
But fairer is your friendly doe 

That watched the sleeping boy. 

* I wish I had preserved a copy of the Wiesbaden newspaper in 
Which this anecdote of the " Child and Hind " is recorded : but I have 
unfortunately lost it. The story, however, is a matter of fact ; it took 
place in 1833: every circumstance mentioned in the following ballad 
literally happened. I was in Wiesbaden eight monihs ago, and was 
ehown the very tree under which the boy was found sleeping, with a 
bunch of flowers in his little hand. A similar occurrence is told by 
tradition of Queen Genevova's child being preserved by being suckled 
by a female deer, when that Princess — an early Christian — and now s 
Saint in the Romish calender, was chased to the desert by her Leathen 
enemies. The spot assigned to the traditionary event, is not a i undred 
miles from Wiesbaden, where a chapel still stands to her memory. 

I could not ascertain whether the Hind that watched my hero " ^\ il- 
helm," suckled him or not ; but it was generally believed that she had 
no milk to give him, and that the boy must have been for two days and 
a half entirely without food, unless it might be grass or leaves. If this 
was the case, the circumstance of the Wiesbaden deer •w-atchmg the 
child, was a still more wonderful token of instinctive f<mdness than that 
ef the deer in the G snevova tradition, who waa natuiti^lly anjuous to be 
relieved ot her milk 



296 Campbell's poems. 

'T^vB3 after church. — on Ascension day •■ 

"SVheu organs ceased to sound, 
Wiesbaden's people crowded gay 
The deer-park's pleasant ground. 

There, where Elysian meadov.-s smile, 

Aixd noble trees upshoot, 
The wild thyme and the chamomiie 

Smell sweetly at their root ; 

The aspen quivers nervously, 
The oak stands stilly bold — 

And climbing bindAveed hangs on high 
His bells of beaten gold.* 

Nor stops the eye tiU mountains shine 
That boimd a spacious view, 

Beyond the lordly, lovely Rlune, 
In visionary blue. 

There, monuments of ages dark 
Awaken thoughts sublime ; 

Till, swifter than the steaming bark, 
We mount the stream of time. 

rhe ivy there old castles shades 

That speak traditions liigh 
Of minstrels, toxunaments, crusades, 

And mail-clad chivalry. 

Here came a twelve years' married pair - 
And with them wandered free 

Seven sons and daughters, blooming fair, 
A gladsome sight to see. 



• Tnere is only one kind of bindweed that is yellow, and that is the 
tlowor here mentioned, the Panicolalus ConvohTilus, 



Campbell's poems. 297 

Their Wilhelm, little iimocent, 

Tlie youngest of the seven, 
Was beautiful as painters paint 

The cherubim of Heaven. 

By turns he gave liis hand, so dear, 

To pajjpnt, sister, brother; 
And each, that he was safe and neat 

Confided in the other. 

But "Wnhelm loved the field-flowers bright, 

With love bef' ond all measure ; 
And culled them with as keen delight 

As misers gather treasure. 

Unnoticed, he contrived to glide 

Ado"\\Ti a greenwood alley. 
By lUies lured, that grew beside 

A streamlet in the valley ; 

And there, where imder beech and birc?fl 

The ri-vTilet meandered, 
He strayed, till neither shout nor search 

Could track Avhere he had wandered. 

StUl louder, with increasing dread, 

They called his darling name ; 
But 'twas like speaking to the dead 

An echo only came. 

Hours passed till evening's beetle roams, 

And blackbird's songs begin; 
Then all went back to happy homes, 

Save Wilhelm' 8 kith and kin. 

The night came on — all others slept 
Their cares away till mom ; 



298 campbell'3 poems 

But sleepless, all night watched and wept 
That family forlorn. 

Betroies the toTvn crier had been sent 

With loud bell, up and down; 
And told th' afflicting accident 

lliroughout Wiesbaden's toi^m : 

The father, too, ere moi-ning smiled, 

Had all his wealth uncofFcred ; 
And to the wight would bring his child 

A thousand crowns had offered. 

Dear friends, who woiild liave blushed to take 

That guerdon from his liand, 
Soon jouied in groups — for pity's sake. 

The child- exploring band. 

The news reached Nassau's Duke : ere earth 

Was gladdened by the lark. 
He sent a hundred soldiers forth 

To ransack all his park. 

Their side-arms glittered througli the wood. 
With bugle-horns to soimd ; — 

Would that on errand half so good 
The soldier oft were found ! 

But though they roused up beast and bird 

From many a nest and den, 
No signal of success was heard 

From aU the hTuidred men. 

A second morning's light expands, 

Unfouiid the infant fair; 
And Wilhelm's household wring their hands, 

Abandoned to despair. 



Campbell's poems. 299 

But, Iiaply, a poor artisan 

Searched ceaselessly, till he 
Found safe asleep the little one, 

Beneath a beechen tree. 

His hand still grasped a bunch -.f flowers ; 

And (true, though wondrous) near, 
To sentry his reposing hotirs, 

There stood a female deer — 

Who dipped her horns at all that passed* 

The spot where Wilhelm lay; 
Till force was had to hold her fast, 

And bear the boy away. 

HaU! sacred love of Cluldhood — hail I 

How sweet it is to trace 
Thine instinct in Creation's scale, 

Ev'n 'neath the human race. 

To this poor wanderer of the wild 
Speech, reason were unknown — 

And yet she watched a sleeping chUd 
As if it were her owti ; 

And thou, Wiesbaden's artisan, 

Restorer of the boy, 
Was ever welcomed mortal man 

With such a burst of joy? 

The father's ecstacy — the mother's 

Hysteric bosom's swell; 
The sisters' sobs — the shout of brothers, 

I have not power to tell. 

• The female deer has no such antlers as the male, and sometimes nc 
horns at all; but I have observed many with short ones suckling their 

fkWIU. 



300 CAMPBELL 8 POEMS 

llie working man, with shoulders broad, 

Took blithely to his wife 
The thousaiad crowns ; a pleasant load, 

That made him rich for life. 

Arxd Nassau's Duke the favorite took 

Into his deer-park's centre, 
To share a field with other pets, 

"Where deer-slayer can not enter. 

There, whilst thou cropp'st thy flowery food, 
Each hand shall pat thee kind ; 

And man shall never spill thy blood — 
Wiesbaden's gentle hind. 



NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR.* 

I LOVE contemplating — apart 

From all his homicidal glory. 
The traits that soften to our heart 

Napoleon's glory ! 

*Twas when hi* banners at Boulogne 
Armed in our island every freeman, 

His navy chanced to cax^ture one 
Poor British seaman. 



• This anecdote has been published in several public journals, both 
French and British. My belief in its authenticity was confirmed by an 
Englishman, long resident at Boulogne, lately telling me, that b« 
remembered the circumstance to have been ^Aerally talked of in tiM 



Campbell's poems. 301 

They suffered Mm — I know not how, 
TJnprisoued on the shore to roam; 

And aye was bent his longing brow 
On England's home. 

His eye, metliinks, pursued the flight 
Of birds to Britain haK-way over ; 

With envy they could reach the white 
Dear cliffs of Dover. 

A stormy midnight watch, he thought, 
Tlian tliis sojoiirn would have been dearer, 

If but the storm his vessel brought 
To England nearer. 

At last, when care had banished sleep, 

He saw, one morning — dreaming, doting — 

An empty hogshead from the deep 
Come shoreward floating ; 

He hid it in a cave, and \\T0ught 
The live-long day laborious ; lurking 

CJntil he launched a tiny boat 
By mighty w^orking. 

Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond 
Description wTretched; such a wherry 

Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond, 
Or crossed a ferry. 

For ploughing in the salt-sea field 

It would have made the boldest ehuddcr 

tJntarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled. 
No sail-— no rudder. 

From neighboring woods he interlaced' 
His Borry skiff with wattled wiUofwa \ 
26 



302 CAMTBELL S P0XM8. 

And thus equipped he woidd have passed 
The foaming billows : 

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, 
His little Argus sorely jeering ; 

Till tidings of him chanced to reach 
Napoleon's hearing. 

With folded arms Napoleon stood, 
Serene alike in peace and danger; 

And, in his wonted attitude, 
Addressed the stranger : — 

*Rash man, that wouldst yon channel pass 
On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned, 
Thy heart with some sweet British lass 
Must be impassioned." 

" I have no sweetheart," said the lad ; 

" But — absent long from one another — 
Great was the longing that I had 

To see my mother." 

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said, 
"Ye've both my favor fairly won; 

A noble mother must have bred 
So brave a son." 

He gave the tar a piece of gold. 
And, with a flag of truce, commanded 

He should be shipped to England Old, 
And safely landed. 

Our sailor oft could scantly shift 

• To find a dinner, plain and hearty ; 
Bnt never changed the coin and gift 
Of Bonaparte. 



CAMPBELl/S POEMS. ^^^ 



THE JILTED NTMPH. 



A 80NO, 

To the Scotch Tune of '' Wooed aiid Married and a-'." 

I'm jilted, forsaken, outwitted ; 

Yet think not I'll wliinaper or brawl — 
The lass is alone to be pitied 

Who ne'er has been coxirted at aU : 
Never by great or Bmall, 
Wooed or jilted at all ; 

Oh, how unhappy' s the lass 
Who has never been courted at ajl ! 

My brother called out the dear faithlees — 

In fits I was ready to fall, 
Till I found a policeman who, scatheless, 

Swore them both to the peace at Guildhall j 
Seized them, seconds and all — 
Pistols, powder and ball; 

I wished him to die my devoted. 
But not in a duel to sprawl. 

WTiat though at my heart he has tilted, 

A\niat though I have met with a fall? 
Better be co\irted and jilted 

Than never be cotirted at alL 
Wooed and jilted and aU, 
Still I will dance at the ball; 

And waltz and quadrille 

With light heart and heel. 
With proper young men, and tslL 



304 Campbell's foxmb. 

But lately I've met with a suitor, 
Whose heart I have gotten in thrall. 

And I hope soon to tell yoii, ia future, 
That I'm wooed, and married, and £tU ; 

Wooed, ana married, and all, -— 

What greater bliss can befall? 
And you all shall partake of my bridal cake. 

When I'm wooed, and married, and all. 



BENLOMONB. 

Hadst thou a genius on thy peak, 
What tales, white-headed Ben, 

Couldst thou of ancient ages speak. 
That mock th' historian's pen ! 

Thy long duration makes our lives 

Seem but so many hours ; 
And likens to the bees' frail hives 

Our most stupendous towers- 
Temples and towers thou'st s^en begtuo, 

New creeds, new conquerors' swayj 
And, like their shadows in the sun. 

Hast seen them swept away. 

Thy steadfast summit, heaven-allied, 

(Unlike life's little span,) 
Looks down, a Mentor, on the j^ride 

Of perishable man. 



CAMPBKLI^'i POSMt 305 



THE PARROT. 

A 1X>MESTI0 AITEODOTB. 

The fbUowinj, incident, so strongly illustrating tbe power of memory 
andaaaociation in the lower animals, is not a fiction. I heard it many 
yeeu» ago in the Island of Mull, from the family to whom tho bird 
belooged. 

Thb deep affections of the breast, 

That Heaven to living things imparts, 

Are not excliisively possessed 
By human hearts. 

A parrot, from the Spanish Main, 

Full young, and early caged, came o'er 

With bright wings, to the bleak domain 
Of Mulla's shore. 

To spicy groves where he had won 
His plumage of resplendent hue, 

His native fruits, and skies, and sun. 
He bade adieu. 

For these he changed the smoke of turi 
A heathery land and misty sky. 

And turned on rocks and raging surf 
His golden eve. 

But, petted, in our climate cold, 
He lived and chattered many a day| 

Until with age, from green and gold 
His wings grew gray. 
26* 



306 Campbell's poeus. 

At Iftst, when blind and seeming dmnb, 
He scolded, laughed, and spoke no moro, 

A Spanish stranger chanced to come 
To Mulla's shore ; 

He hailed the bird in Spanish speech, 
The bird in Spanish speech replied. 

Flapped round his cage with joyous screech, 
Dropped dovra, and died. 



OK GEITIXG HOME THE PORTRAIT OF A 
FEMALE CHILD, SIX YEARS OLD, 

FAINTED BY EUGENIO LATILLA. 

Type of the Cherubim above, 
Come, live with me, and be my love! 
Smile from my wall, dear roguish sprite, 
By sunshine and by candle-light ; 
For both look sweetly on thy traits : 
Or, were the Lady-Moon to gaze, 
She'd welcome thee -with lustre bland. 
Like some young fay from Fairy Land. 
Cast in simplicity's own mould. 
How canst thou be so manifold 
In sportively distracting charms? 
Thy lips — thine eves — thy little arms 
ITiat vrra]) thy shoulders and thy head 
In homeliest shawl of netted thread. 
Brown woollen net- work ; yet it seeks 
Accordance with thy lovely cheeks. 



CAMPBELL'S POBM8. 307 

And more becomes thy beauty's bloom 
Than any shawl &om Cashmere's loom. 

Thou hast not, to adorn thee, girl, 
Flower, link of gold, or gem, or pearl — 
I woTild not let a ruby speck 
The peeping whiteness of thy neck. 
Thou need'st no casket, witching elfi 
No gawd — thy toilet is thyself ; 
Not ev'n a rose-bud from the bower 
Thyself a magnet — gem, and flower. ^ 

My arch and playful little creature, 

Thou hast a mind in every feature ; 

Thy brow, with its disparted locks, 

Speaks language that translation mocks; 

Thy lucid eyes so beam with sold, 

They on the canvas seem to roll. 

Instructing both my head and heart 

To idolize the painter's art. 

He marshals minds to Beauty's feast, 

He is Humanity's high priest. 

Who proves, by heavenly forms on earth« 

How much this world of ours is worth. 

Inspire me, child, with visions fair I 

For children, in Creation, are 

The only things that could be given 

Back, — and alivo, unchanged, — to Hearer J 



308 OAMPBEIiLS POBMS. 



SONG OF THE COLONISTS DEPARTING FOE 
NEW ZEALAND. 

Steer, helmsman, till you steer our way, 

By stars beyond the line ; 
We go to found a realm, one day, 

Like England's self to Bhine. 

CHORUS. 

Cheer up ! cheer up ! our course we'll keep, 

With dauntless heart and hand; 
And when we've ploughed the stormy deep, 

We'll plough a smiling land- 

A land, where beauties importune 

The Briton to its bowers, 
To sow but plenteous seeds, and prune 

Liixuriant frmts and flowers. 

Choi-iis. — Cheer up ! cheer up ! &c. 

There, tracts uncheered by human word«. 

Seclusion's wildest holds, 
Shall hear the lowing of otir herds, 

And tinkling of our folds. 

Chorus, — Cheer up ! cheer up I &c. 

Like rubies set in gold, shall blush 

Our vineyards girt with com; 
And wine, and oil, and gladness gush. 

Fiom Amalthea's horn. 

Chorm. — Cheer up ! *heer up ! &c 

Britannia's pride is in ouj hearts. 
Her blood is in our veiM— - 



Campbell's poEftis. 309 

We'll girdle earth -wdtt British, arts, 
Like Ariel's magic chains. 

CHOBUS. 

Cheer up I cheer up I oar coijrse we'll keep, 

With dauntless heart and hand; 
And when we've ploughed the Btoraiy deep, 

We'll plough a smiling land. 



MOONLIGHT. 



The kiss that would make a maid's cheek fiuah 

Wroth, as if kissing were a sin 

Amidst the Argus eyes and din 

And tell-tale glare of noon. 

Brings but a murmtu: and a blush. 

Beneath the modest moon. 

Ye days, gone — never to come back, 
When love returned entranced me so, 
That still its pictures move and glow 
Li the dark chamber of my heart ; 
Leave not my memory's future track — 
I ^ill not let you part. 

Twas moonlight, when my earliest love 
First on my bosom dropped her head; 
A moment then concentrated 
The bliss of years, as if the spheres 
Their course had faster driven. 
And carried Enoch-like above, 
A living man to Heaven. 



^IQ CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

'Tis by the rolling moon we measure, 
The date between our nuptial night 
And that blest hour which brings to light 
The fruit of bliss -- the pledge of faith ; 
When we impress upon the treasure 
A father's earliest kiss. 

The Moon's the Earth's enamoved bride; 
True to him in her very changes, 
To other stars she never ranges : 

Though, crossed by him, sometimes she dipt 
Her light, in sliort offended pride, 
And faints to an ecHpse. 

The fairies revel by her sheen; 
'Tis only when the Moon's above 
The fire- fly kindles into love, 
And flashes Hght to show it : 
The nightingale salutes her Queen 
Of Heaven, her heavenly poet 

Then ye that love — by moonlight gloom 
Meet at my grave, and phght regard. 
Oh ! coidd I be the Orphean bard 
Of whom it is reported. 
That nightingales sxmg o'er his tomb, 
Whilst lovers came and courted. 



Campbell's poems. 311 



COUA LINN, OR THE FALLS OF THE 
CLYDE. 

WRITTEN ON HEVlSITINa IT IN 1837. 

The time I saw thee, Cora, last, 
'Twas with congenial friends ; 
And calmer hours of pleasure past — 
My memory seldom sends. 

It was as sweet an Autumn day 
As ever shone on Clyde, 
And Lanark's orchards all the way, 
Put forth their golden pride ; 

Ev'n hedges, busk'd in bravery, 
Looked rich that sunny mom ; 
The scarlet hip and blackbeny 
So pranked September's thorn. 

In Cora's glen the calm how deep ! 
The trees on loftiest hill 
Like statues stood, or things aaleep» 
All motionless and still. 

The torrent spoke, as if his noise 
Bade earth be quiet roimd, 
And |p[ve his loud and lonely voic€ 
A more coBtmanding sound. 

His foam, beneath the yeUow light 
Of noon, came doyrn Hke one 
Continuous sheet of jaspers bright, 
Broad rolling by the sim. 



312 CAMPBELL'* POEMS. 

Dear Linn ! let loftier falling floods 
Have prouder names than tliine; 
And king of all, enthroned in woods, 
Let Niagara shine. 

Barbarian, let him shake his coasts 
With reeking thunders far, 
Extended like the array of host* 
Li broad, embattled war ! 

His voice appalls the wilderness : 
Approaching thine, we feel 
A solemn, deep melodiousness, 
That needs no louder peal. 

More fury would but disenchant 
Thy dream-inspiring din ; 
Be thou the Scottish Muse's haunt, 
Romantic Cora Linn. 



LINES SUGGESTED BY THE STATUE OP 
ABNOLD VON WINKELIUED,* 

8TAN2- UNDERWALDBN. 

Inspiring and romantic Switzers' laj^d. 
Though marked ^ith majesty by Nature's hand, 
What charm ennobles most thy landscape's face? — 
The heroic memory of thy native race — • 

• For an account of tliis patriotic Swiss, and his heroic death at tne 
battle of Sempach, see Dr. Bealti«'« "Switzerland lUustratea," vol li. 
pp 111-115. 



j 



(.▲nPBELL'fl PO«M» 313 

Who forced ryraimic hosts to bleed or flee; 
And made their rocks the ramparts of the free ; 
Their fastnesses rolled back the invading tide 
Of conquest, and then* moimtains taught them pride ; 
Hence they have patriot names — in fancy's eye, 
Bright as their glaciers glittering in the sky; 
Patiiots who made the pageantries of kings 
Like shadows seem and imsubstantial things, 
Their guiltless glory mocks obhvion's rust, 
Imperishable, for their cause was just. 

Heroes of old ! Ip whom the Nine have strung 
Their Ijtcs, and Bpirit-stixring anthems simg; 
Heroes of chivalry ! whose bamiers grace 
The aisles of many a consecrated place. 
Confess how few of you can match in fame 
The martyr Winkelried's immortal name I * 

• The advocates of classical learning tell us that, without classio 
historians, we should never become acquainted with the most splendid 
traits of human character ; but one of those traits, patriotic self-devotion, 
may surely be heard of elsewhere, without learning Greek and Latin. 
There are few, who have read modern history, unacquainted with the 
noble volumary death of the Switzer Winkelried. Whether he was a 
peasant or man of superior birth, is a pouit not quite settled in his'ory, 
though I am inclmed to suspect that he was simply a peasant. But thit 
is certain, that in the battle of Sempach, perceiving that there was no 
other means of breaking the heavy-armed lines of the Austrians than 
by gathering as many of their spears as he could grasp together, he 
he opened a passage for his fellov/ combatants, who, with hammers and 
hatcjcts, hewed down the mailed menat-arrcs, »nd won the victory. 

a? 



B14 CAMPBEIL 8 POEMS. 

SONG OF OUR QUEEN. 

8BT TO MUSIC BY CHAELES NEATE, ESQ. 

ViCTOEu's sceptre o'er the deep 
Has touched, and broken slavery's chais. 

Yet, straiige magician ! she enslaves 
Our hearts within her own domain. 

Her spirit is devout, and bums 
With thoughts averse to bigotry, 

Yet she, herself the idol, turns 
Our thoughts into idolatry. 



LINES ON MY NEW CHILD-SWEETHEAKT 

I HOLD it a religious duty 
To love and worship children's beauty ; 
They've least the taint of eartlily clod, 
They're freshest from the hand of God; 
With heavenly looks they make us sure 
The heaven that made them must be puro; 
We love them not in earthly fashion, 
But with a beatific passion. 
I chanced to, yesterday, behold 
A maiden child of beauty's mould; 
'Twas near, more sacred was the scene, 
The palace of our patriot Queea. 



CAMPBELL S POEMS. 315 

Die little charmer, to my view 
Was sculpture brought to life anew; 
Her eyes had a poetic glow, 
Her pouting mouth was Cupid's bow: 
And through her frock I could descry 
Her neck and shoulders* symmetry. 
•Twas ob^-ious from her walk and gait 
Her limbs were beautifully straight; 
I stopped the enchantress, and was told. 
Though tall, she was but four years old 
Her gvude so grave an aspect wore 
I could not ask a question more; 
But followed her. The little one 
Threw backward ever and anon 
Her lovely neck, as if to say, 
«' I know you love me, Mistei Grey ; '* 
For by its instinct childhood's eye 
Is shrewd in physiognomy ; 
They well distinguish farming art 
From sterling fondness of the heart. 

Ana so she flirted, like a true. 

Good woman, till we bade adieu. 

Twas then I with regret grew wild. 

Oh, beauteous, interesting child ! 

Why asked I not thy home and name ? 

My courage failed me — more's the shanu(fe 

But where abides this jewel rare } 

Oh, ye that own her, tell me where ! 

For sad it makes my heart and sore 

To think I ne'er may meet her more. 



316 Campbell's poems 



ro THE UNITED STATES OF NORTH 
AMERICA. 

UiranED States, yotir banner wears 
Two emblems — one of fame ; 

Alas, the other that it bears 
Reminds us of your shame. 

Your standard's constellation types 

White freedom by its stars ; 
But what's the meaning of the stripes 

They mean your negroes' scars. 



THE LAUNCH OF A FIRST-RATB 
warrTEN on witnessino the spectacle. 

England hails thee with emotion, 

Mightiest child of naval art, 
Heaven resotmds thy welcome ! Ocean 

Takes thee smiling to his heart. 

Giant oaks of bold expansion 
O'er seven hundred acres fell, 

AU to build thy noble mansion, 
Where our hearts of oak shall dwell. 

'Midst those trees the wild deer bounded, 
Ages long ere we were bom, 



Campbell's foems. 317 

And our great-grandfathers aoimded 
Many a jovial hunting-horn. 

Oaks that liviag did inherit 

Grandeur from our earth and sky, 
Still robust, the native spirit. 

In your timbers shall not die. 

Ship to shine in martial story, 

Thou shalt cleave the ocean's path. 

Freighted with Britannia's glory 
And the thunders of her wrath. 

Foes shall crowd their sails and fly thee. 

Threatening havoc to their deck, 
When afar they first descry thee, 

Like the coming whirhvind's speck. 

Gallant bark ! thy pomp and beauty 

fetorm or battle ne'er shall blast, 
Whilflt our tars in pride and duty 

Nail thy colors to the mast. 



EPISTLE FROM ALGIERa 

TO HORACB SMITH. 

Deab Hobace ! be melted to tears. 

For I'm melting with heat as 1 rhyme; 

Though the name of this place is All-jeera, 
Tis no joke to fall in with its dime. 

27* 



318 Campbell's pokms. 

With a shaver* from France who came o*ei; 

To an African inn I ascend; 
I am cast on a barbarous shore, 

Where a barber alone is my friend. 

Do you ask me the sights and the news 

Of this wonderful citj' to sing? 
Alas ! my hotel has its mews, 

But no muse of the Helicon's spring. 

My windows afford me the sight 

Of a people all diverse in hue ; 
They are black, yellow, olive, and white, 

WhUst I in my sorrow look blue. 

Here are groups for the pamter to take, 
Whose figures jocosely combine, — 

The Arab disguised in his haik,t 

And the Frenchman disguised in his wine. 

In his breeches of petticoat size 

You may say as the Mussulman goes. 

That his garb is a fair compromise 

'Twixt a kilt and a pair of small clothes. 

The Mooresses, shrouded in wliite, 

Save two holes for their eyes to give room. 

Seem like corpses in sport or in spite 

That have slyly whipped out of their tomb. 

• Oa board the vessel from Marseilles to Algiers I met with a fellow 
passenger, whom I supposed to be a physician, from his dress and mao- 
Qers, and the attentiorjs which he paid me to alleviate the sufferings o/ 
my sea-sickness. Ke turned out to be a perruquier and barber ia 
Algeria — but his vocation did not lower him in my estimation— for h« 
continued his attentions till he pasted my baggage through the customs 
and helped me, when half dead with exhauatation, to the best hotel 

t A mantle wora by the natives. 



Campbell's poems. 319 

The old Jewish, dames make me sick : 

If I were the devil, I declare 
Such hags shoidd not moimt a broom-stick 

In my service to ride thiou£rh the air 

But hipped and undined as I am, 
My hippogriff 's coiurse I must rein, — 

For the pain of my thirst is no sham. 
Though I'm bawling aloud for champagne. 

Dinner's brought; but the -wines have no pith , 
rhey are flat as the statutes at law; 

And for all that they bring me, dear Smith ! 
Would a glass of bro-s\Ti stout they could di a t \ 

O'er each French trashy dish as I bend. 

My heart feels a patriot's grief! 
And the roxmd tears, O England ! descend 

"When I think on a round of thy beef. 

Tes, my soul sentimentally craves 
British beer ! Hail, Britannia, hail ! 

To thy flag on the foam of the waves, 
And the foam on thy flagons of ale. 

Yet I own, in this hour of my drought, 
A dessert hafl most welcomely come; 

Here are peaches that melt in the mouth, 
And grapes blue and big as a plum. 

There are melons, too, luscious and great. 

But the slices I eat shall be few. 
For from melons incautiously eat 

Melancholic efiects may ensue. 

Horrid pun ! you'U exclaim ; but be cahn, 
Thougn my letter bears date, as you view. 

Prom the .and of the date-bearing palm 
I will paim no more pims upon you. 



320 CAMPBELL g POEMB 



TO A YOUNG LADY, 

W^KO ASKSD UE TO WBITE SOMETHING OKIGDfAX POB HiDS 
A-LBUlf. 

An origbal something, fair maid, you would wist me 

To write — but how shall I begin? 
For I fear I have nothing original in me — 

Excepting Original bin. 



FRAGMENT OF AN ORATORIO, 

FROM THE BOOK OP jrOB. 

Having met my illustrious friend the Composer Ncukomm, at Algiers, 
several years ago, I commenced this intended Oratorio at iii» desire, ba* 
he left the place before I proceeded farther in the poem ; and it •utf b<Mr 
thus left unfinished. 

CausHED by misfortune's yoke, 

Job lamentably spoke : — 

"My boundless curse be on 

The day that I was bom; 

Quenched be the star that shone 

Upon my natal mom. 

In the grave I long 

To shroud my breast ; 

Where the wicked cease to wror.s^ 

And the weary are at rest," 



CAM PB kill's poems. 321 

Then Eliphaz rebuked his wild despair:— « 
**\\Tiat Heaven ordains, 'tis meet that man 

should bear. 
Lately, at midnight drear, 
A \ision shook my bones with fear; 
A spirit passed before my face, 
And yet its form I could not trace; 
It stopped, it stood, it chilled my blood, 
The hair upon my flesh uprose 
AVith freezing dread ! 
Deep silence reigned, and at its close 
I heard d voice that sail! — 
* Shall mortal man be more pure and jur 
Than God, who made liira from the dust ? 
Hast thou not learned of old, how fleet 
Is the triumph of the hypocrite? — 
How soon the wreath of joy grows wan 
On the brow of the ungodly man ? 
By the fire of his conscience he perishelh 
In an imblo-vMi flame: 
ITie Earth demands his death, 
And the Heavens reveal his shame.'" 



Is this j^our consolation f 

Is it thus that ye condole 

With the depth of my desoIatiOBu 

And the anguish of my soul I 

But I will not cease to wail 

The bitterness of my ba'e, 

Man that is bom of woman, 

Short and evil is his hour; 

He fleeth IDce a shadow. 

He fadeth like a flower. 

My days are past ; my hope and tnut 

Is but to moulder in the dust. 



322 CAMPBEIiIi'S FOEMfi. 



Bow, mortal, bow, before thy God, 

Nor muimiir at liis chastening rod ; 

Fragile being of earthly clay, 

Tiiink on God's eternal sway ! 

Hark ! from the whirlwind forth 

Thy Maker speaks — " Thou child of earth. 

Where wert thou when I laid 

Creation's comer-stone ? 

When the sons of God rejoicing made. 

And the morning stars together sang and si ok® 

Hadst thou power to bid above 

Heaven's constellations glow; 

Or shape the forms that live and move 

On Natm-e's face below? 

Hast thou given the horse his strength and pride I 

He paws the valley with nostril wide, 

He smells far off the battle; 

He neighs at the trumpet's sound — 

Ajid Ids speed devours the ground, 

As he sweeps to where the quivers rattlo, 

And the spear and shield shine brightg 

'Midst the shourmg of the captaina 

And the thunder of the fisrht. 



NOTES 



P. 38. L la 

And stitch thy strength-inspiring aid that ban 
The hardy Byron to his native skoi e — 

The following picture of his own distress, given Dj 
Byron in his simple and interesting narrative, justifies 
the description in page 5. 

After relating the barbarity of the Lidian cacique to his 
child, he proceeds thus : — "A day or two after we irxl to 
Bea again, and crossed the great bay I mentioned we had 
been at the bottom of when we first hauled away to the 
westward The land here was very low and sandy, and 
something like the mouth of a river which discharged it- 
self into the sea, and which had been taken no notice of 
by xis before, as it was so shallow that the Indians were 
obliged to take every thing out of their canoes, and carrv 
them over land. "We rowed up the river four or five 
leagues, and then took into a branch of it that ran first to 
the eastward, and then to the northward; here it became 
much narrower, and the stream excessively rapid, so that 
we gained but httle way, though we wrought very haid. 
At night we landed upon its banks, and had a most un- 
wmf6rtable lodging, it being a perfect Bwamp, and we had 
28 



326 woTKs. 

nothing to cover us, though it rained excessi rel jr. Th« 
Indians were little better oflf than we, as there was no 
wood here to make their wigwams ; so that all they could 
do was to prop up the bark, which they carry in the bot- 
tom of their canoes, and shelter themselves as well as they 
could to the leeward of it. KiK;idiig the difficulties they 
had to encounter here, they had provided themselves with 
some seal ; but we had not a morsel to eat, after the heavy 
fatigues of the day, excepting a sort of root we saw the 
Indians make use of, which was very disagreeable to the 
taste. We labored all next day against the stream, and 
fared as we had done the day before. The next day 
brought us to the carrying place. Here was plenty of 
wood, but nothing to be got for sustenance. We passed 
this night, as we had frequently done, under a tree ; but 
what we suffered at this time is not easy to be expressed. 
I had been three days at the oar without any kind of nour- 
ishment except the wretched root above mentioned. I had 
no shirt, for it had rotted off by bits. AU my clothes con- 
sisted of a short grieko, (something like a bear-skin,) a 
piece of red cloth which had once been a waistcoat, and a 
ragged pair of trousers, without shoes or stockings." 

P. 38, 1. 32. 

a Briton and a friend ! 

Don Patricio Gedd, a Scotch physician in one of tha 
Spanish settlements, hospitably relieved Byron and hia 
wretched associates, of which the Commodore speaki ia 
ihe warmest terms of gratitude. 



woTEs. 327 

P. 39, 1. 12. 

Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string. 

The seven strings of Apollo's harp were the symboJcal 
representation of the seven planets. Hersehel, by difecoT- 
ering an eighth, might be said to add another string to the 
instrument. 

P. 39, 1. 13. 

The Swedish sage, 

P. 40, 1. 1. 

Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flote, 

Loxias is the name frequently given to Apollo by Greek 
^Titers. It is met with more than once in the Choephora 
of ^schylus. 

P. 41, 1. 1. 

Unlocks a generoxts store at thy command^ 
Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand. 

See Exodus, chap. xvii. 3, 5, 6. 

P. 45, 1. 16. 
Wild Obi flies . 

Among the negroes of the West Indies, Obi, or Oibiah, 
ifl the name of a magical power, which is believed by them 
to affect the object of its malignity with dismal calamities. 
Such a belief must undoubtedly have been deduced from 
th i superstitious mythology of their kinsmen on the coast 
ot Africa. I have, therefore, personified Obi as th6 evil 



328 NOTES 

Bpixit of the African, although the history of the A&kaa 
tribes mentions the evil spirit of their religious creed by k 
different appellation. 

P. 45, 1. 20. 
Sibir's dreary mines. 

Mr Bell, of Antennony, in his Travels through Siberia, 
informs us that the name of the country is imiversallv 
pronounced Sibir by the Russians. 

P. 45, 1. 34. 
Presaghig tvraik to Polaiid — and to man! 

The history of the partition of Poland, of the massacre 
in the suburbs of Warsaw, and on the bridge of Prague, 
the triumphant entry of Suwaxrow into the Polish capital, 
and the insult offered to human nature, by the blasphe- 
mous thanks offered up to Heaven, for victories obtained 
over men fighting in the sacred cause of liberty, by mur- 
derers and oppressors, are events generally known. 

P. 60, 1. 31. 
The shrill horn blew. 

The negroes in the "West Indies are summoned to tlieir 
morning work by a shell or horn. 

P. 61, 1. 16. 
Hoto long was Timawi's iron sceptre swayed 
To elucidate this passage, I shall subjoin a quotatioa 



noTES. 329 

from the preface to Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, & work 
of elegance and celebrity. 

" The unpostor of Mecca had established, as one of the 
principles of his doctrine, the merit of extending it, either 
by pprsuasioa, or the sword, to all parts of the earth. 
How steadily this injunction was adhered to by his fol- 
lo'^vers, and with what success it was pursued, is weU 
known to all who are in the least conversant in history. 

** The same overwhelming torrent which had inundated 
the greater part of Africa, burst its way into the very heart 
of Europe, and covering many kingdoms of Asia with un- 
bounded desolation, directed its baneful coxirse to the 
flourishing provinces of Ilindostan. Here these fierce 
and hardy adventurers, whose only improvement had 
been in the science of destruction, who added the fury 
of fanaticism to the ravages of war, found the great end 
of their conquest opposed by objects which neither the 
ardor of their persevering zeal, nor savage barbarity, could 
surmount. Multitudes w^ere sacrificed by the cruel hand 
of religious persecution, and whole countries were deluged 
in blood, in the vain hope, that by the destruction of a 
part the remainder might be persuaded, or terrified, into 
the profession of Mahomedism. But aU these sanguinary 
efforts were ineffectual ; and at length, being fully con- 
Tii:ced, that though they might extirpate, they could nevei 
hope to convert, any number of the Hindoos, they relin- 
quished the impracticable idea with which they had 
entered upon their career of conquest, and contented 
themselves with the acquirement of the civil dominioa 
and almost imiversal empire of Hindostan.' — Letter 
from a Hindoo Rajah, by Eliza Hamilton 
28* 



830 NOTES. 

p. 51, 1. 30. 

And braved tf^e stormy Spirit of the Cape, 

See the description of the Cape of Good Hope, trana- 
lated from Camoens, by Mickue. 

P. 62, 1. 10. 

While famished nations died along the shore. 

The follo-\ving account of British conduct, and its conse- 
quences, in Bengal, will afford a sufEcient idea of the fact 
aUuded to in this passage. 

After describing the monopoly of salt, betel-nut, and 
tobacco, the historian proceeds thus : — " Money in this 
current came but by drops ; it could not quench the thirst 
of those who waited in India to receive it. An expedient, 
fiuch as it was, remained to qmcken its pace. The natives 
coidd live with Httle salt, but could not want food. Some 
of the agents saw themselves weU. situated for coUecting 
the rice into stores : they did so. They knew the Gentoos 
would rather die than violate the principles of their reli- 
gion by eating flesh. The alternative wovild therefore be 
between giving what they had, or dying. The inhabitants 
BUftk : they that cultivated the land, and saw the harvest 
at the disposal of others, planted in doubt : — scarcity 
ensued. Then the monopoly was easier managed : — 
sickness ensued. In some districts, the languid living 
left the bodies of their numerous dead unburied." — 
Slurrt Histoi-y of the English Transactions in the East Ih> 
diis, p. 145. 



NOTES 331 

P. 52, 1. 26. 

Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurled 
His awful preseru:e o'er the alarmed world. 

Among the sublime fictions of tlie Hindoo mythology, 
it is one article of belief, that the Deity Brama has de- 
scended nine times upon the world in various forms, and 
that he is yet to appear a tenth time, in the figure of i 
warrior upon a -white horse, to cut off all iaicorrigible of- 
fenders. Avatar is the ^vord used to express his descent. 

P. 53, 1. 10. 

STiall Seriswatiee wave her hallowed wand I 
And Caindeo bright, ayid Ga>iesa sublime. 

Camdeo is the God of Love in the mythology of the 
Hindoos. Ganesa and Seriswattee coxTespond to the paga» 
deities, Janus and Alinerva, 

P. 58, 1. 32. 
Th^ tioon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! — 
Sacred to Venus is the myrtle shade. — Dryden. 

P. 61, L 19. 

Thy woes, Avion ! 

Falconer, in his poem, "The Shipwreck," speaks of 
himself by the name of Arion. — See Falconer's " Ship 
wreck, canto iii. 

P. 61, 1. 32. 
The robber Moor I 
Bee Schiller's tragedy of «« The Robbers, * scene v. 



332 K T E 8 

P. 62, 1. 16 

What millions died — that Casar might be great f 

The carnage occasioned by the wars of Jixliiis Ccesar has 
b<«n usually estimated at two millions of men. 

P. 62, 1. 17. 

Or learn the fate that bleeding tl^oiisands bore^ 
Marched by their Charles to Dnieper's swampy shore, 

"In this extremity," (says the biographer of Charles 
Xn. of Sweden, speaking of his military exploits before 
the battle of Puj to wa^^ "the memorable winter of 1709, 
which was stiU more remarkable in that part of Europe 
than in France, destroyed numbers of his troops ; foi 
Charles resolved to brave the seasons, as he had done his 
enemies, and ventured to make long marches during this 
monal cold. It was in one of these marches that two 
thoiifiand men fell dowTi dead with col'^1 before his eyes." 

P. 63, 1. 7. 

■ As lona's saint. 

The natives of the island of lona have an opinion, that 
on certain evenings every year, the tutelary saint Columba 
UB seen on the top of the church spires counting the stur- 
rounding islands, to see that they have not been sunk by 
fixe power of witchcraft. 

P. 63, 1. 26. 

And parti ^*^ Aj^t — never to return I 

Sec the hintory of Ajut and Anningait, in " The Rani' 
bier." 



NOTES. 333 

P. 76, 1. 6. 

From merry mock-bird's song. 

The niocking-biri is of the form of, but larger than, the 
thrush ; and the colors are a mixture of black, white, and 
gray. What is said of the nightingale by its greatest 
»imirers is what may with more propriety apply to thia 
bii'd, who, m a natural state, sings with very superior 
taste. Towards evening I have heard one begin softly 
reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which, by this 
means, liad a most astonishing effect. A gentleman in 
London had one of these birds for six years. Dxiring the 
space of a minute he was heard to imitate the woodlark, 
chaffinch, blackbird, thrush, and sparrow. In this country 
(America) I have frequently known the mocking-birds so 
sngaged in this mimicry, that it was with much difficulty 
I could ever obtain an opportunity of hearing their own 
natural note. Some go so far as to say, that they have 
neither pecuHar notes, nor favorite imitations. This may 
be denied. Their few natural notes resemble those of the 
(Eiiropean) nightingale. Their song, however, has a 
greater compass and volume than the nightingale's, and 
they have the facidty of varying all intermediate notes 
in a manner which is truly delightful. — Ashe's Travels in 
America^ vol. ii. p. 73. 

P. 76, 1. 27. 

And distant isles that hear the lottd Corbrechtan roan 

The Corybrechtan, or Corbrechtan, is a whiilpool on 
ihe western coast of Scotland, near the island of Jura, 
which ii heard \t a prodigious distance. Its name signiflei 



334 NOTES. 

tlie whirlpool of th.e Prince of Denmark ; and there is i 
tradition that a Danish prince once undertook, f(r a 
wager, to cast anchor in it He is said to have used 
woollen instead of hempen ropes, for greater strength, but 
perished in the attempt. On the shores of Argyleshire, I 
have often listened with great delight to the sound of this 
vortex, at the distance of many leagues. WTien th.8 
weather is calm, and the adjacent sea scarcely lieard on 
these picturesque shores, its sound, which is like the 
sound of innimierable chariots, creates a magnificent and 
fine effect. 

P. 79, 1. 8. 
Of btisJtined limb, and swarthy lineament. 

In the Indian tribes there is a great similarity in their 
color, stature, &c. They are all, except the Snake 
Indians, tall in stature, straight, and robust. It is very 
seldom they are deformed, -which has given rise to the 
supposition that they put to death their deformed chil- 
dren. Their skin is of a copper color ; their eyes large, 
bright, black, and sparkling, indicative of a subtle and 
discerning mind : their hair is of the same color, and 
prone to be long, seldom or never curled. Their teeth 
are large and white ; I never observed any decayed 
among them, which makes their breath as sweet as the 
air they inhale. — Travels through America by Captaint 
Lewis and Clarke in 1804-5-6. 

P. 79, 1. 19. 
<* Peace be to thee ! my words this belt approve. 
The Indians of North America accompany every formal 



NOTES. 335 

address to strangers, with whom, they form or recogiiiee' • 
trealy of amity, with a present of a string, or belt, of 
wampum Wampum (says Cadwallader Golden) is made 
of the large whelk shell, buccinum, and shaped like long 
beads : it is the current money of the Indians. — History 
»/ the Five Indian Nations, p. 34, New York edition. 

P. 79, 1. 20. 

The paths of peace my steps have hither led. 

In relating an interview of Mohawk Indians with the 
Governor of New York, Golden quotes the following 
passage as a specimen of their metaphorical manner ' 
•• Where shall I seek the chair of peace ? Where shall 
I find it but upon our path ? and whither doth our path 
lead us but \mto this house ? " 

P. 79, 1. 24. 

Our wampum league thy brethren did ernbrace. 

When they solicit the alUance, offensive or defensive, 
of a whole nation, they send an embassy with a large 
belt of wampom. and a bloody hatchet, inviting them to 
oome and drink the ilood of their enemies. The wam- 
pum made use of on these and other occasions, before 
their acquaintance with the Europeans, was nothing but 
in: all shells which they picked up by the sea coasts, and 
on the banks of the lakes ; and now it is nothing but a 
kind of cylindrical beads, made of shells, white and black, 
which are esteemed among them as silver and gold are 
among us. The black they call the most valuable, »r,d 
botti together are their greatest riches and ornament* 



these among tliem answering all the end that money doei 
amongst us. They have the art of stringing, twisting, 
and interwea^'ing them into their belts, collars, blankets, 
and n.occasins, &c., in ten thousand different sizes, forms, 
and figures, so as to be ornaments for every part of dress, 
and expressive to them of all then- important transactionau 
They dye the wampum of various colors and shades, and 
mix and dispose them vnth great ingenuity and order, and 
BO as to be significant among themselves of almost every 
thing they please ; so that by these their words are kept, 
and their thoughts communicated to one another, as ours 
are by writing. The belts that pass from one nation to 
another in all treaties, declarations, and important trans- 
actions, are very carefully preserved in the cabins of their 
chiefs, and serve not only as a kind of record or history, 
but as a public treasure. — Major Rogers's Account of No^-th 
America, 

P. 80, 1. 14. 

As when the evil Manitou 

It is certain the Indians acknowledge one Supreme 
Being, or Giver of Life, who presides over all things ; 
that is, the Great Spirit ; and they look up to him as the 
source of good, from whence no evil can proceed. They 
also believe in a bad Spirit, to whom they ascribed great 
power ; and suppose that through his power all the evik 
which befall mankind are afflicted. To him, therefore, 
they pray in their distresses, begging ihat he would 
either avert their troubles, or moderate them when they 
axe no longer avoidable. 

They hold also that there are good Spirits of a lowei 



NOTES. 



337 



degree, who have their particular departments, m which 
they are constantly contributing to the happiness of 
mortals. Tliese they suppose to preside over all the 
extraordinary productions of Nature, sM'jh ds those lakes, 
rivers, and mountains that are of an ancommon magir ■ 
tude ; and likewise the beasts, birds, fishes, and even 
Ttgetables or stones, that exceed the rest of their specie* 
in size or aingidarity. — Clarke's Travels among the Indians, 
The Supreme Spirit of Good is called by the Indiana 
Kitchi Manitou ; and the Spirit of Evil, Match i Manitou. 

P. 81, 1. 2. 

Of fever-balm and sweet sagamite : 

The fever-balm is a medicine used by these tribes ; i( 
\& a decoction of a bush called the Fever Tree. Sagamite 
ie a kind of soup administered to their sick. 

P. 81, 1. 10. 

And /, the eagle of my tribey have rushed 
With this lorn dove. 

The testimony of all travellers among the Ameriean 
Indians who mention their hieroglyphics, authorizes me 
in putting this figurative language in the mouth of Outal- 
iisai. The dove is among them, as elsewhere, an emblem 
of meekness ; and the eagle that of a bold, noble, and 
liberal mind. When the Indians speak of a warrior who 
Boars above the multitude in person and endowments, they 
•ay, " he is like the eagle, who destroys his enemies, and 
gives protection and abundance to the weak of bis owb 
tribe." 

29 



338 W O T E 8 . 

p. 82, 1. 11. 
Far differently^ the mute Oneida took, §c. 

They are extremely circumspect and deliberate in everj 
word and action ; nothing hurries them into any intem- 
perate wrath, but that inveteracy to their enemiis wliich 
is rooted in every Indian's breast. In all other in&tancca 
they are cool and deHberate, taking care to suppress the 
emotions of the heart. If an Indian has discovered that a 
friend of his is in danger of being cut off by a lurking 
enemy, he does not tell him of his danger in direct terms, 
as though he were in fear, but he first coolly asks him 
which way he is going that day, and having his answer, 
with the same indifference, tells him that he has been 
informed that a noxious beast Has on the route he is goinj^. 
This hint proves sufficient, and his friend avoids the 
danger with as much caution as though every design find 
motion of his enemy had been pointed out to him. 

If an Indian has been engaged for several days in the 
chase, and by accident continued long ■v\dthout food, 
when he arrives at the hut of a friend, where he Imowa 
that his wants woQ be immediately supplied, he takes 
care not to show the least symptoms of impatience, oi 
betray the extreme hunger that he is tortured ^ith ; bat 
on being invited in, sits contentedly down, and smokes 
!iiB pipe with as m\ich composui-e as if his appetite was 
cloyed, and he was perfectly at ease. He does the same 
If among strangers, Ihis custom is strictly adhered to by 
every tribe, as they esteem it a proof of fortitude, and 
thuik the reverse would entitle them to the appellation 
of old women. 



NOTES. 330 

If you tell an Indian that lis children have greatly 
lignalized themselves against an enemy, having taken 
many scaljDS, and brought home many prisoners, he does 
not appear to feel any strong emotions of pleasure en the 
occasion ; his ansAver generally is, — " They have done 
well," and he makes but very little inquiry about th* 
Oiattcr ; on the contrary, if you inform liim that his 
•ihildren are slaiia or taken prisoners, he makes no com- 
plaints : he only replies, " It is unfortunate : " — and fos 
some time asks no questions about how it happened. — 
Lewis and Clarke's Travels, 

P. 82, 1. 12. 

His calumet of peace j ^c. 

Nor is the calumet of less importance or less revered 
than the wampum in many transactions relative both to 
peace and war. The bowl of tlds pipe is made of a kind 
of soft red stone, which is easily wrought and hollowed 
out ; the stem is of cane, alder, or some kind of light 
wood, painted with different colors, and decorated with 
the heads, tails, and feathers of the most beautiful birds. 
The use of the calumet is to smoke either tobacco, oi 
Kvme bark, leaf, or herb, which they often u^e instead of 
U» when they enter into an alliance on any serious occasion 
«f SDlemn engagements ; tliis being among them the most 
sacred oath that can be taken, the violation of which ia 
esteemed most infamous, and deserving of severe punish- 
ment from Heaven. When they treat of war, the whol« 
pipe and all its ornaments are red : sometimes it is red 
only on one side, and by the disposition of the feathers, &c« 



340 NOTES 

one acquainted -with tlieir customs will know at Qim 
eight what the nation who presents it intends or desire?-. 
Smoking the calumet is also a religious ceremony on som« 
occasions, and in all treaties is considered as a witness 
between the parties, or rather as an instrument by which 
they invoke the sun and moon to witness their sincerity 
and to be as it were a guarantee of the treaty between 
them. Tliis custom, of the Indians, though to appearance 
somewhat ridiculous, is not without its reasons ; for as 
they find that smoking tends to disperse the vapors of the 
brain, to raise the spirits, and to qualify them for thinking 
and judging properly, they inti-oduced it into theii 
coimcils, where, after their resolves, the pipe was con- 
sidered as a seal of their decrees, and as a pledge of their 
performance thereof it was sent to those they were con- 
sulting, in alliance or treaty with ; — so tliat smoking 
among them at the same pipe, is equivalent to our drink- 
ing together, and out of the same cup. — Major Rogers's 
Account of North America^ 1766. 

The lighted calumet is also used among them for a pur- 
pose still more interesting than the expression of social 
fifiendship. The austere manners of the Indians forbid 
sny appearance of gallantry between the sexes in the day- 
time ; but at night the young lover goes a calumetting, as 
hi* courtship is called. As these people live in a state of 
equality, and without fear of internal violence or theft in 
their own tribes, they leave their doors open by night as 
well as by day. The lover takes advantage of this liberty, 
lights his calumet, enters the cabin of his mistress, and 
feiitly presents it to her. K she extinguish it, she admits 
bis addresses ; but if she suffer it to burn unnoticed, he 



W O T E S . J54:i 

retires with a disappointed and throbbing heart — Ashe''s 
Travels. 

P. 82, 1. 15. 

Trained from hu tree-rocked cradle to his bier. 

An Indian child, as soon as he is born, is swf.thed with 
dothes, Dr skins ; and being laid on his bank, is bound 
down on a piece of thick board, spread -over with soft 
moss. The board is somewhat larger and broader than 
the child, and bent pieces of wood, like pieces of hoops, 
are placed over its face to protect it, so that if the machine 
were suffered to fall the chUd probably woidd not be in- 
jured. When the women have any business to transact 
at home, they hang the boards on a tree, if there be one 
at hand, and set them a swinging from side to side, like a 
pendulum, in order to exercise the children. — Weld, vol 
ii p. 246. 

P. 82, 1. 16. 

77ie fierce extreme of good and ill to brook 
Impassive 

Of the active as well as passive fortitude of the Indiar 
eharacter, the foUo-vvuig is an instance related by Adair io 
his Travels : — 

A party of the Seiiekah Indians came to war against tli» 
Katahba, — bitter enemies to each other. In the woooa 
the former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the 
latter, hunting in their usual light dress. On his perceiv- 
ing them, he sprang off for a hollow reck four or five 
imlea distant, as they intercepted him from miming home- 
ward. He was so extremely svdft and skilful -vntii th« 
39* 



342 woTES. 

gun, as to kill seven of them in the running fight, before 
they were able to surround and take him. They carried 
him to their country in sad triumph : but though he had 
filled them with uncommon grief and shame for the losB 
of so many of their kindred, yet the love of martial virtui 
induced them to treat him, during their long journey, 
with a great deal more civility than if he had acted the 
part of a coward! The women and children, when thej 
met him at their several towns, beat him and whipped 
him in as severe a manner as the occasion required, accord- 
ing to their law of justice ; and at last he was formally 
condemned to die by the fiery torture. — It might reason- 
ably be imagined, that what he had for some time gone 
through, by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious march, 
lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the changea 
of the weather, with his arms and legs extended in a pair 
of rough stocks, and suifermg such punishment on his en- 
tering into their hostile towns, as a prelude to those sharp 
torments for wliich he was destined, would have so im- 
paired his health, and affected liis imagination, as to have 
Bent hiia to his long sleep, out of the way of any more 
Bufferings. Probably this would have been the case with 
the major part of white people under similar circumstances; 
but I never knew this with any of the Indians ; and this 
eool-headed, brave warrior did not deviate from theii 
rough lessons of martial virtue, but acted his part so 
well as to surprise and sorely vex his numerous enemies ; 
for Avhen they were taking him, unpinioned, in their wild 
parade, to the place of torture, which lay near to a river, 
he suddenly dashed down rhose who stood in his way, 
•prang off, and plunged ialx> he water, swimming under 



NOTES. 



343 



ftsath like an otter, only rising to take breath, till he had 
reached the opposite shore. He now ascended the steep 
bank, but though he had good reasor. to be in a hurry, ai 
many of the enemy were in the water, and others running, 
very like bloodhounds, in pursuit of him, and the buUfta 
flying around him from the time he took to the river, yet 
his heart did not allow him to leave them abruptly, with* 
out taking leave in a formal manner, in return for the 
extraordinary favors they had done, and intended to do 
^m. After slapping a part of his body in defiance to 
them, (continues the author,) he put up the shi-ill war- 
whoop, as his last salute, till some more convenient oppor- 
tunity offered, and darted off in the manner of a beast 
broke loose from its tortiuring enemies. He continued hia 
speed, so as to ran by about midnight of the same day aa 
far as his eager pursuers were two days in reaching. There 
he rested tiU he happily discovered five of those Indians 
who had pursued him : he lay hid a little way off theii 
camp, tiU they w^ere soimd asleep. Every circumstance of 
his situation occurred to him, and inspired him mth hero- 
ism. He was naked, torn, and hungry, and his enraged 
enemies were come up with him ; — but there was now 
every thing to relieve his wants, and a fair opportunity to 
save his life, and get great honor and sweet revenge by 
cutting them off. Resolution, a convenient spot, and sud- 
den surprise, would effect the main object of all his wdshet 
and hopes. He accordingly crept, took one of their toma- 
hawks, and killed them all on the spot, — clothed himselli 
took a choice gun, and as much ammunition and provis- 
ions as he could well carry In a running march. He set off 
afresh, with a light he^xt, and did not sleep for several 



344 NOTES. 

iuccessive nigl its, only v/hen lie reclined, as usual, a little 
before day, with liis back to a tree. As it were by instinct, 
when he found he was free from the pursuing enemy, 
he made directly to the very place where he had killed 
■eyen of his enemies, and was taken by them for the fiery 
torture. He digged them up, burnt their bodies to ashes, 
and went home in safety with singular triumph. Other 
pursuing enemies came, on the evening of the second day, 
to the camp of their dead people, when the sight gave 
them a greater shock than they had ever known before. 
In their chilled war-council they concluded, that as he 
had done such surprising things in Ms defence before he 
was captivated, and since that in liis naked condition, and 
now was well armed, if they continued the pursmt he 
would spoU them all, for he surely was an enemy- wi;';ard ; 
and therefore they returned home. — Adair's General Ob- 
servations on the American Indians, p. 394. 

It is surprising (says the same author) to see the long- 
continued speed of the Indiana, Though some of us have 
often run the swiftest of thorn out of sight for about the 
distance of twelve miles, yet afterwards, without any 
Beeming toil, they would stietch on, leave us out of 
Bight, and,outwind any horse. —Ibid, p. 318. 

If an Indian were driven out ii«<« the extensive woods, 
with only a knife and a tomahawk, or a small hatchet, it 
is not to be doubted but he would fatten even where a 
wolf would starve. He would soon collect fire by rubbing 
two dry pieces of wood together, make a bark hut, earthen 
vessels, and a bow and arrows : then kill ^ild game, fish, 
fresh-water tortoises, gather a plentil\il variety of vegeta» 
biesw and live in affluence. — Ibid, p. 410. 



WOTES. Si!\ 

"P. 82, 1. 25. 
&ioccasins are a sort of Indian b\iskins. 

P. 82, 1. 28. 

Sleeps wearied one! and m t?te dreaming land 
Shoiddst thou to-morrow with thy mother tneett 

There is nothing (says Charlevoix) in which these Daj« 
harians carry their superstitions farther than in what re- 
gards dreams ; but they vary greatly in their manner of 
explahiing themselves on this point. Sometimes it is the 
reasonable soul which ranges abroad, while the sensitive 
continues to animate the body. Sometimes it is the famil- 
iar genius who gives salutary counsel with respect to what 
is going to happen. Sometimes it is a visit made by the 
Boul of the object of which he dreams. But in whatever 
manner the dream is conceived, it is always looked upon 
as a thing sacred, and as the most ordinary way in which 
the gods make knoMTi tlieir •will to men. Fnied -with this 
idea, they can not conceive how we should pay no regard 
to them. For the most part, they look upon them cither 
as a desire of the soul, inspired by some genius, or an 
order from him, and in consequence of this principle they 
hold it a rchg-ious duty to obey them. An Lidian having 
di earned of having a finger cut off, had it really cut off aa 
Boon as he awoke, having first prepared himself for this 
important action Dy a least. Another having dreamed of 
oeing H prisoner, and m the hands of his enemies, wa* 
much at a loss what to do. He consulted the jugglery 
and by their advice oai^ed himself to be tied to a pos^ 



346 NOTES. 

and burnt in several parts of the boay. — Charlevoix, /c»r- 
nal of a Voyage to North America, 

P. 83 ' 7. 

From a flower shaped ]ike a horn, which Chateanlriand 
presuines to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their tray- 
els through the desert often find a draught of dew piirei 
than any other water. 

P. 83, 1. 12. 

The crocodile, the condor of the rock. 

The alligator, or American crocodile, when full-grown, 
(says Bertram,) is a very large and terrible creature, and 
of prodigious strength, acti\'ity, and swiftness in the water. 
I have seen them twenty feet in length, and some are sup- 
posed to be twenty-two or twenty-three feet in length. 
Their body is a-s large as that of a horse, their shape usu- 
ally resembles tliat of a Hzard, which is flat, or cuneiform, 
being compressed on each side, and gradually dimuiishing 
from the abdomen to the extremity, which, with the whola 
body, is covered with homy plates, or squamae, impenetra- 
ble, when on the body of the live animal, even to a rifle- 
ball, except about their head, and just behind their fore- 
legs or arms, where, it is said, they are only vulnerable. 
The head of a full-groAvn one is about three feet, and tha 
mouth opens nearly the same length. Their eyes are small 
in proportion, and seem sunk in the head, by means of the 
prominency of the brows ; the nostrils are large, inflated, 
and prominent on the top, so that the head on the water 
resembles, at a distance, a great chunk of wood floating 



KOTEs. 347 

About. Only the tipper jaw moves, which they raise 
almost perpendicular:, so as to form a right-angle with the 
lower one. In the fore-part of the upper jaw, on each 
Bide, just under the nostrils, are two very large, tliick, 
strong teeth, or tusks, not very sharp, but rather the shape 
of a cone : those are as white as the finest polished ivory, 
and are not covered by any skin or lips, but always m 
Bight, which gives the creature a frightful appearance ; in 
the lower jaw ai-e holes opposite to these teeth to receive 
them : when they clap their jaws together, it causes a 
Burimsing noise, like that which. is made by forcing a 
heavy plank with violence upon the ground, and may be 
heard at a great distance. But what is yet more surpris- 
ing to a stranger, is the incredibly loud and terrifying roar 
which they are capable of making, especially in breeding 
time. It most resembles very heavy distant thunder, not 
only shaking the air and waters, but causing the earth to 
tremble ; and when hundreds are roaring at the same tune, 
you can scarcely be persuaded but that the whole globe 
is violently and dangerously agitated. An ;>ld champion, 
who is, perhaps, absolute sovereign of a little lake or 
lagoon, (when fifty less than liimself are obliged to content 
themselves with swelling and roaring in little coves round 
ftbout,) darts forth from the reedy coverts, aU at once, oii 
the surface of the waters, in a right line, at first seemingly 
BB rapid as hghtning, but gradually more slowly, until he 
arrives at the centre of the lake, where he stops. He now 
swells himself by dra-vving in wind and Avater tlu-ough hia 
mouth, which causes a loud sonorous rattling in the throat 
for near a minute ; but it is immediately forced out again 
through his mouth and nostrils with a loud noise, bran* 



5'iS NOTES. 

dishing his tail in the air, and the vapoi running from his 
nostrils lik(j smoke. At other times, when swollen to an 
extent ready to burst, liis head and tail lifted up, he spins 
or twuls round on the surface of the water. lie acts his 
part like an Indian chief, when rehearsing the feats of 
war, — Bertraiii's Travels in North America, 

P. 83, 1. 20. 

'TTien forth uprose that lone way-faring man. 

They discorer an amazing sagacity, and acquire, with 
Ike greatest readiness, any thing that depends upon the 
attention of the mind. By experience, and an acute obser- 
vation, they attain many perfections to which the Ameri- 
cans are strangers. For instance, they will cross a forest 
or a plain., which is two hundred miles in breadth, so as to 
reach with great exactness the point at wliich they intend 
to arrive, keeping, during the whole of that space, in a 
direct line, without any material deviations ; and this they 
will do with the same ease, let the weather be fair or 
cloudy. With equal acuteaess they will point to tLat p«rt 
fcf the lieavens the sun is in, though it be intercepted by 
clouds or fogs. Besides this, they are able to pursue, with 
incredible facility, the traces of man or beast, either on 
leaves or grass ; and on this accoimt it is with great diffi- 
culty they escape discovery. They are indebted for these 
tdlents, not only to natui<5, but to an extraordinary com- 
gnand of the intellectual qualities, which can orJy be ac- 
quired by an unremitted attention, and by long experi- 
ence. They are, in general, very happy in a retentive 
memory. They can recapitulate every particular that has 



NOTES. 349 

been treated of in council, and remember the exact tima 
when they were held. Their belts of wampum preserve 
the 8ub>itance of the treaties they have concluded with tha 
neighboring tribes for ages back, to which they will appeal 
and refer with as much perspiciiity and readiness aa Euro- 
peans can to their written records. 

The Indians are totally unskilled in geography, as well 
as all the other sciences, and yet they draw on their birch- 
bark very exact charts or maps of the countries they are 
acquainted with. The latitude and longitude only are 
wanting to make them tolerably complete. 

Their sole knowledge in astronomy consists in being able 
to point out the polar star, by which they regulate their 
course when they travel in the night. 

They reckon the distance of places not by miles or 
leagues, but by a day's journey, which, according to the 
best calculation I cotdd make, appears to be about twenty 
English miles. These they also divide into halves and 
quarters, and wiU demonstrate them in their maps with 
great exactness by the hieroglyphics just mentioned, when 
they regulate in council their war-parties, or their most 
distant hunting exc\irsions. — Lewis and Clarke's Travels. 

Some of the French missionaries have supposed that 
the Indians are guided by instinct, aad have pretend? ' 
that Indian children can find their way through a foregt 
as easQy as a person of maturer years ; but this i& a most 
absurd notion. It is unquestionably by a close attention 
to the growth of the tiees, and position of tlie sim, that 
they find their way. On the northern side of a tree there 
Is generally the most moss ; and the baik on tliat side, in 
general, differs from tiat on the opposite one. Th« 
80 



350 NOTES. 

branches to;vard the south aie, for the most part, more 
luxiuriant than those on the other sides of trees, and 
several other distinctions also subsist between the northern 
and southern sides, conspicuous to Indians, ^eing tau.^ht 
from their infancy to attend to them, which a common 
observer woiild, perhaps, never notice. Beuig accustomed 
from their infancy likewise to pay great attention to the 
position of the sun, they iearn to make the most accurate 
allowance for its apparent motion from one part of the 
heavens to another ; and in every part of the day they 
will point to the part of the heavens where it is, although 
the sky be obsciired by clouds or mists. 

An instance of their dexterity in finding their way 
through an imknown country came under my observation 
when I was at Staunton, situated behind the Blue Moun- 
tains, Virginia. A nvunber of the Creek nation had 
irrived at that tov^Ti on their way to Philadelphia, whither 
they were going upon some affairs of importance, and had 
stopped there for the night. In the morning, some 
circumstance or other, which, could not be learned, in- 
duced one haK of the Indians to set off without tlieit 
companions, who did not follow until some hours after- 
wards. When these last were ready to pursue their 
journey, several of the towns-people mounted their horsef 
to escort them part of the way. They proceeded along 
the high road for some miles, but, all, at once, hastily 
turning aside into the woods, though there was no path, 
tlie Indians advanced confidently forward. The people 
who accompanied them, surprised at this movement, 
informed them that they were quitting the road to Phil- 
adelphia, and expressed their fear lest they should miss 



NOT«i. 351 

their companions who had gone on before. They answered 
that they knew better, that the way through the woods 
was the shortest to Philadelphia, and that they knew 
very well that their companions had entered the wood at 
the very place where they did. Curiositj'- led some of the 
horsemen co go on ; and to their astonishment, for there 
was apparently no track, they overtook the other Indians 
in the thickest part of the wood. But what appeared 
most singular was, that the route which they took was 
found, on examining a map, to be as direct for Philadel- 
phia as if they had taken the bearings by a marmer's 
compass. From others of their nation, who had been at 
Philadelphia at a former period, they had probably learned 
the exact direction of that city from their villages, and 
had never lost sight of it, although they had already 
travelled three hundred miles through the woods, and had 
upwards of four hundred miles more to go before they 
could reach the place of their destination. Of the exact- 
ness with which they can find out a strange place to 
which they have been once directed by their own people, 
a striking example is furnished, I think, by jSIt. Jefferson, 
in his accoimt of the Indian graves in Virginia. These 
graves are nothing more than large mounds of earth in 
the woods, which, on being opened, are found to contain 
skeletons in an erect posture : the Indian mode of sepul- 
ture has been too often described to remain imknoTvn to 
yon. But to come to my story : A party of Indians that 
were passing on to some of the seaports on the Atlantic, 
just as the Creeks above mentioned were going to Phila- 
delphia, were observed, aU on a sudden, to quit the 
straight road by which th^ey V0'e proceeding, and without 



352 



"VOTES. 



asking any questions, to strilce through the weeds, in • 
direct line, to one of these graves, which lay at the 
distance of some miles from the road. Now very near • 
century must have passed over since the part of Virginia 
in which this grave was situated had been inhabited by 
Indians, and these Indian travellers, who were to visit it 
by themselves, had unquestionably never been in that 
part of the country before : they must have found th«is 
way to it simply from the description of its situation 
that had been handed down to them by tradition. — Wekft 
Travels in North America, vol. ii. 

P. 87, 1. 30. 

Their fathers' dust, 

It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs 
of their ancestors in the cultivated parts of America, ^\■ho 
}ia\e been buried for upwards of a century. 

P. 90, 1. 8. 

Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound. 

The bridges over narrow streams, in many parts of Span- 
ish America are said to be built of cane, which, however 
strong to support the passenger, are yet waved in the 
Agitation of the storm, and frequently add to tho effeol 
o£ a mountainous and picturesque scenery. 

P. 99, 1. 8. 
The Mammoth comes, — — 
That 1 am justified in making the Indian chief alludt 



NOTES. 353 

So the mammoth as an emblem of terror and iestmction, 
vnli be seen by the authority quoted below. Spe:tking 
of the mammoth or big buffalo, Mr. Jefferson states, that 
a tradition is preserved among the Indians of that anicial 
still existing in the northern parts of iVmerica. 

" A delegation of warriors from the Delaware triba 
having visited the governor of Virginia dining the revolu.- 
tion, on matters of business, the governor asked then. 
some questions relative to their country, and, among 
others, what they knew or had heard of the anim.-J 
whose bones were found at the Salt-licks, on the Ohio. 
Their chief speaker immediately put himself into an 
attitude of oratory, and mth a pomp suited to what he 
conceived the elevation of his subject, informed liiin that 
it was a tradition handed down from their fathers, that 
in ancient times a herd of these tremendous animals 
came to the Bick-bone- licks, and began an universal 
destruction of the bear, deer, elk, buffalo, and other ani- 
mals which had been created for the use of the Indians. 
That the Great Man above looking down and seeing this, 
^as 80 enraged, that he seized his lightning, descended 
cn the earth, seated himself on a neighboring mountain on 
a rock, on which Ms seat and the prints of liis feet ara 
ftill to be sc^n, and hurled his bolts among them, till the 
(ehcle vrcre slaughtered, except the big buU, vvlio, pre- 
senting Ms forehead to the shafts, shook them off as they 
fell, but missing one, at length, it wounded liim in th« 
Bide, whereon, springing roimd, he bounded over the 
OMo, over the Wabash, the Illinois, and finally over th© 
great lakes, where he is li-ving at tMs day." — Jeferson't 
Notes OJt Virginia. 

30* 



354 W O T E S . 

p. 99, 1. 14. 

Scorning to xcield the hatchet for his bribSf 
'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth. 

I took the character of Brandt in the poem of Gertrude 
from the common Histories of England, all of which 
represented him as a bloody and bad man, (even among 
8a\'ages,) and chief agent in the horrible desolation of 
Wyoming. Some years after this poem appeared, the son 
of Brandt, a most interesting and intelligent youth, came 
gver to England, and I formed an acquaintance with him 
on wliich I still look back with pleasure. He appealed to 
my sense of honor and justice, on his own part, and on 
that of liis sister, to retract the unfair aspersions which, 
unconscious of their unfairness, I hjid cast on his father's 
memory. 

He then referred me to doctmients which completely 
satisfied me that the common accoimts of Brandt's 
cruelties at Wyoming, which I had found in books of 
Travels, and in Adolphus's and similar Histories of Eng- 
land, were gross errors, and that in point of fact Brandt 
was not even present at that scene of desolation. 

It is, unhappily, to Britons and Anglo-Americans that 
ire must refer the chief blame in this horrible business. I 
published a letter expressing this belief in the New 
Monthly Magazine, in the year 1822, to which I must 
refer the reader — if he has any curiosity on the subject — 
for an antidote to my fanciful description of Brandt. 
Among other expressions to young Brandt, I made use 
of the following words : — > " Had I learned all this of yoiu 
father when I was writing my poem, he should not have 



NOTES 



355 



agured in it as the hero of mischief." It was bu bare 
justice to say thus much of a Mohawk Indian, who spoke 
English eloquently, and was thought capable of having 
•written a history of the Six Nations. I ascertained also 
that he often strore to mitigate the cruelty of Indian war- 
fare. Tlie name of Brandt, therefore, remains in my poem 
i pure and declared character of fiction. 

P. 99, 1. 21. 

To whom nor relative nor blood remains, 

ffo I—, not a kindred drop that runs in human veins I 

Every one who recollects the specimen of Indian 
eloquence given ia the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, 
to the governor of Virginia, will perceive that I have 
attempted to paraphrase its concluding and most striking 
expression : — •* There runs not a drop of my blood in the 
veins of any living creature." The similar salutation of 
the fictitious personage in my story, and the real Indian 
orator, makes it surely allowable to borrow such an ex- 
pression ; and if it appears, as it can not but appear, te 
less advantage than in the original, I beg the reader t« 
reflect how difficult it is to transpose such exquisitely sim- 
ple words, without sacrificing a portion of their effect. 

In the spring of 1774, a robbery and murder were 
txfxnmitted on an inhabitant of the frontiers of Virginia, 
by two Indians of the Shawanee tribe. The neighbormg 
wliites, according to their custom, undertook to punish 
this outrage in a summary manner. Colonel Cresap, a 
man infamous for the many murders he had committed oa 
those much injured people, collected a party, and pro- 



S56 NOTES. 

oeeded down the Kanaway in quest of vengeance : uss« 
fortunately, a canoe with women and cliildren, with ona 
man only, was seen coming from the opposite shore 
unarmed, and unsuspecting an attack from the whites. 
Cresap and his party concealed themselves on the bank 
of the river, and the moment the canoe reached the shore, 
singled out their objects, and at one fire killed every 
person in it. This happened to be the family of Logan, 
who had long been distinguished as a friend to the wliites. 
This unworthy retiun provoked his vengeance ; he ac- 
cordingly signalized himself in the war which ensued. In 
the autumn of the same year a decisive battle was fought 
at the mou'ch of the great Kanaway, in which the collected 
forces of the Shawanees, Mingoes, and Delawares, were 
defeated by a detachment of the Virginia militia. Tli€ 
Indians sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be 
Been among the suppliants ; but lest the sincerity of a 
treaty should be disturbed, from wliich so distinguished a 
chief abstracted himself, he sent, by a messenger, the fol- 
lowing speech to be delivered to Lord Dimmore : — 

" 1 appeal to any white man if ever he entered Logan's 
cabin hungry, and he gave him not to eat ; if ever he 
came cold and hungry, and he clothed him not. During 
the last long and bloody war Logan remamed idle in hi» 
> %bin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for th© 
whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and 
iaid, Logan is the friend of the white man. I have even 
thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one 
man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, 
murdered all the relations of Logan, ev^en my woraen and 
children. 



WOTES. 357 

" There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of asuj 
Using creature. This ciilled on me for revenge. I have 
fought for it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted 
my vengeance. For my coiintry, I rejoice at the beams 
of peace ; — but do n>-t harbor a thought tha^ mine is the 
joy of fear. Logan never felt fepj. He will not turn qd 
his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Lo- 
gan ? — not one ! " — Jefferson's Notes on Virginia 

P. 109, 1. 3. 
That gave the glacier tops their richest glow. 

The sight of the glaciers of Switzerland, I am told, has 
often disappointed travellers who had perused the accounts 
of their splendor and sublimity given by Bourrit and other 
deseribers of S-wiss scenery. Possibly Boiurit, who had 
spent his life in an enamored familiarity with the beauties 
of nature in Switzerland, may have leaned to the romantic 
sidfc of descriiJtion. One can pardon a man for a sort of 
idolatry of those imposing objects of nature which heighten 
our ideas of the bounty of nature or Providence, when we 
leflect that the glaciers — those seas of ice — are not onlj 
BubUme, but usefid : they are the inexhaustible reservoirs 
which supply the principal rivers of Europe ; and theii 
annua, melting is in proportion to the summer heat which 
dries up those rivers and makes them need that supply. 

That the picturesque grandeur of the glaciers should 
sometimes disappoint the traveller, Mill not seem surpna- 
Ing tc any one who has been much in a moimtainotif 
ooiintry, and recollects that the beauty of nature in such 
countries is not only variable, but capriciously dependent 



558 



NOTES. 



on the weather and sunshine. There are abou four hun- 
dred different glaciers,* according to the computation of 
M. Bourrit, between 'Mont Blanc and the frontiers of the 
Tyrol. The full effect of the most lofty and picturesqua 
of them can, of course, only be produced by the richest 
and -warmest light of the atmosphere ; and the very heat 
^}»ich Oluminates them must have a changing influence 
on many of their appearances. I imagine it is owing to 
this circumstance, namely, the casualty and changeable- 
ness of the appearance of some of the glaciers, that the 
impressions made by them on the minds of other and more 
transient travellers have been less enchanting than those 
described by M. Bourrit. On one occasion M. Bourrit 
seems even to speak of a past phenomenon, and certainly 
one which no other spectatc r attests in the same terms, 
when he says, that there once existed, betTveen the Kandel 
Steig and Lauterbrun, " a passage amidst singular glaciers, 
sometimes resembling magical towns of ice, with pilasters, 
pyramids, columns, and obelisks, reflecting to the sim the 
most brilHant hues of the finest gems." M. Bourrit'a 
description of the Glacier of the Rhone is quite enchant- 
ing : — "To fonn an idea," he says, " of this superb spec- 
tacle, figure in your mind a scaffolding of transparent ice, 
filling a space of two miles, rising to the clouds, and dart- 
ir.g flashes of light like the sun. Nor were the several 
parts less magnificent and surprising. One might see, aa 
it were, the streets and buildings of a city, erected in th« 
form of an amphitheatre, and embellished with pieces oi 
water, cascades, and torrents. The effects were as proc!l« 

• Occcpying, if taken together, a surface of 130 square league*. 



NOTES 



359 



gioua as the immensity and the height ; — tie most oeau- 
tiful azxire— the most splendid white — the regular ap 
pcarance of a thousand pyramids of ice, — are more eagj 
U be imagined than described." — Bourrit, iii. 163. 

P. 109, 1. 9. 
From heights browsed by the bounding bouqueting, 

Laborde, in his «« Tableau de la Suisse," gives a curioTii 
account of tHs animal, the Avild sharp cry and elastic 
movements of which must heighten the picturesque appear- 
ance of its haunts. " Nature," says Laborde, " has des- 
tined it to mountains covered with snow : if it is not 
exposed to keen cold, it becomes blind. Its agility in 
leaping much surpasses that of the chamois, and would 
appear incredible to those who have not seen it. There it. 
not a moxmtain so high or steep to which it will not trusv 
itself, provided it has room to place its feet ; it can scram- 
ble along the highest wall, if its surface be rugged." 



P. 109, 1. 15. 
enamelled moss. 

The ra^ss of Switzerland, as well as that of the Tyrol, 
te remarkable for a bright smoothness, approaching to the 
appearance of enamel. 

P. 113, 1. 11. 
Hbw deetr seemed ev'n the waste and wild Shreek-hom, 
The Shreck-hom means, in German, the Pea* Jt lerr >f 



SCO 



NOTES, 



P. 113, 1. 16. 

Blindfold his native hills he could have litiown 

I have here availed myself of a striking expression oi 
the Emperor Napoleon respecting his recollections of Cor- 
sica, which is recorded in Las Casas's History of the EiU' 
peror's Abode at St. Helena. 

P. 133, 1. 1. 

Innisfail, the ancient name of Ireland. 

P. 134, 1. 5. 

Kerne, the plural of Kern, an Irish foot-soldier. In thu 
sense the word is used by Shakspoare. Gainsford, in his 
Glories of England, says, " They (the Irish) are desperate 
in revenge, and their kerne think no man dead until hit 
head be off:' 

P. 134, 1. 27. 
Shieling, a rude cabin or hut. 

P. 134, 1. 33, 
In Erin's yellow vesture clad. 

Yellow, dyed from saffron, was the favorite color of the 
tmclent Irish. When the Irish cliieftains came to make 
t«rm« with Queen Elizabeth's lord- lieutenant, we are told 
oy Sir John Davis, that they came to court in saffron-col- 
ored uniforms. 

P. 135. 1. 12. 

Mdrat, a drink made of the juice of mulberry mixed 

with honey 



WOTE8. 361 

P. 136, 1. n. 

Their tribe, they said, their high degree, 
Was sung in Taras psaltery. 

The pride of the Irish in ancestry was so great, tliat om 
of the O'Neals being told that Barrett of Castlemone had 
been there only four hundred years, he replied, that ha 
hated the clown as if he had come there but yesterday. 

Tara was the place of assemblage and feasting of the 
petty princes of Ireland. Very splendid and fabulous 
descriptions are given by the Irish historians of the pomp 
and luxury of those meetings. The psaltery of Tara was 
the grand national register of Ireland. The grand epoch 
of poKtical eminence in the early history of the Irish is 
the reign of their great and favorite monarch, Ollam Fod- 
lah, who reigned, according to Keating, about nine hun- 
dred and fifty years before the Christian era. Under him 
was instituted the great Fes at Tara, which it is pretended 
was a triennial convention of the states, or a parliament ; 
the members of which were the Druids, and other learned 
men, who represented the people in that assembly. Very 
minute accounts arc given by Irish annalists of the mag- 
nificence and order of these entertainments ; from which^ 
If credible, we might collect the earliest traces of heraldry 
that occur in history. To preserve order and regularity is. 
the great number and variety of the members who met on 
such occasions, the Irish historians inform us that when 
the banquet was ready to be served up, the sliield-bearers 
of the princes, and other members of the convention, 
delivered in their shields and targets, wliich were readilj 
distinguished, by the coats of arms emblazone 1 upon them 
31 



362 NOTES. 

These were arranged by the grand marshal and principtd 
herald, and hung upon the walls on the right side of th« 
table; and upon entering the apartments, each membei 
-ook his seat under his respective shield or target, without 
the slightest disturbance. The concluding days of the 
meeting, it is allowed by the Irish antiquaries, were spent 
in very free excess of conviviality ; but the first six, they 
say, were devoted to the examination and settlement of 
the annals of the kingdom. These were publicly rehearsed, 
When they had passed the approbation of the assembly, 
they were transcribed into the authentic chronicles of the 
nation, which was called the Register, or Psalter of Tara. 

Coh Yallancey gives a translation of an old Irish frag- 
ment, found in Trinity College, Dublin, in which the pal- 
ace of the above assembly is thus described as it existed id 
the reign of Connac : — 

" In the reign of Cormac, the palace of Tara was nine 
hundred feet square ; the diameter of the surroxmdittg 
rath, seven dice or casts of a dart ; it contained one hun- 
dred and fifty apartments ; one hundred and fifty dormito- 
ries, or sleeping-rooms for guards, and sixty men in each : 
the height was twenty-seven cubits ; there were one hun- 
dred and fifty common drinking-horns, twelve doors, and 
one thousand guests daily, besides princes, orators, and 
men of science, engravers of gold and silver, carvers, mod- 
ellers, and nobles." The Irish description of the banquet' 
big-hall is thus translated : — " Twelve stalls or divisions 
in each wing ; sixteen attendants on each side, ar d two to 
each table ; one hujidred guests in aU." 



NOTES. 363 

p. 136, 1. 22. 

And stemmed De Bourgo's chivaln,: 

The house of O'Connor had a right to boast of theil 
victories ovei the English. It was a (jhief of the O'Con- 
nor race who gave a cheek to the English champion D« 
Courcy, so famous for his personal strength, and for cleav- 
ing a helmet at one blow of his sword, in the presence of 
the kings of France and England, when the French cham- 
pion declined the combat with him. Though ultimately 
conquered by the Enghsh under De Bourgo, the O'Con- 
nors had also humbled the pride of that name on a memo- 
rable occasion, viz. : when "Walter de Bourgo, an ancestor 
of that De Bourgo who won the battle of Athunree, had 
become so insolent as to make excessive demands upon the 
territories of Connaught, and to bid defiance to all the 
rights and properties reserved by the Irish chiefs. Eath 
O'Connor, a near descendant of the famous Cathal, sur- 
named of the Bloody Hand, rose against the usurper, and 
defeated the English so severely, that their general died 
of chagrin after the battle. 

P. 136, 1. 25. 

Or hedl-Jires for your jubilee. 

The month of May is to tliis day called Mi Beal tienme^ 
L e., the month of Beal's fire, in the original language of 
Ireland, and hence I believe the name of the Beltan festi- 
val in the Highlands. These fires were lighted on the 
summits of mountains (the Irish antiquaries say) in honoi 
of the sun ; and are supposed, by those conjecturing gen- 
tlemen, to prove the origin of the Irish from some nat/on 



364 NOTES. 

who worshipped Baal or Belus. Many lulls in Ireland 
still retain the name of Cnoc Greine, i. e., the Hil of the 
Sun ; and an all are to be seen the ruins of Drnidical altjirs. 

P. 137, 1. 12. 

And play my clarshech by thy side. 

The clarshech, or harp, the principal musical instnunen 
of the Hibernian bards, does not appear to be of Irish ori- 
gin, nor indigenous to any of the British islands. The 
Britons imdoubtedly were not acquainted with it dviring 
the residence of the Romans in theijr country, as in all 
their coins, on which musical instruments are represented, 
we see only the Roman lyre, and not the British teylin, or 
harp. 

P. 137, 1. 18. 

And saw at davm the lofty bamn. 

Baton, from the Teutonic Baioen — to construct ano 
secure with branches of trees, was so called because the 
primitive Celtic fortifications were made by digging a 
ditch, throwing up a rampart, and on the latter fixing 
Btakes, which were interlaced with boughs of trees. This 
word is used by Spenser ; but it is inaccurately called by 
Mr. Todd, his annotator, an eminence. 

P. 141, 1. 6. 

To speak the malison of heaven. 

If the wrath which I have ascribed to the heroine of 
this little piece should seem to exhibit her character as too 
unnaturally stripped of patriotic and domestic affections, I 



NOTES. 365 

must beg leave to plead the authority of Comeille in tht 
representation of a similar passion : I allude to the denun- 
ciation of Camille, in the tragedy of Horace. When 
Horace, accompanied by a soldier bearing the three 
swords of the Curiatii, meets his sister, and invites her 
to congrat-alate him on liis victory, she expresses only her 
griefi which he attributes at first only to her feelings for 
the loss of her two brothers ; but when she bursts forth 
into reproaches against him as the murderer of her lovei*, 
the last of the Ciiriatii, he exclaims : — 

" O ciel ! qui vii jamais une pareille rage ! 
Crois-lu done que je sois insensible k I'outrage, 
Que je gouffre en mon sang C6 mortel d^shonneur ? 
Aime, aime cette morl qui fail notre bonheur; 
Et pr6ftre du moins au souvenir d'lui homme 
Ce que doit ta naissance aux int^reis de Rome." 

At the mention of Rome, Camille breaks out into this 
apostrophe : — 

"Rome, I'unique objet de mon ressentiment ! 
Rome, k qui vient ton bras d'immoler mon amant ! 
Rome qui t'a vu nailre et que ton cosur adore ! 
Rome enfin que je hais parce'qu'elle t'honore ! 
Puissent tous ses voisins ensemble conjur6» 
Saper ses fondemenls encor mal assure ; 
Et si ce n'esl assez de toute I'lialio, 
Que I'Orient centre elle k I'Oecident s'alhe ; 
Que cent peuples unis des bouts de I'univera 
Passent pour la deiruire et les monts et les men ; 
Qu'elle-m%me sur soi renverse ses murailles, 
Et de ses propres mains d6chire ses entrailles; 
Que le courroux du ceil allum6 par mes Toeaa 
Fasse pleuvoir sur elle un deluge de feux 
31* 



'^Q^ NOTES 

Pui886-je de mes yeux y voir lomber ce I'oadre, 
Voir ses maisons en ceiidre, et les lauriers en poudre, 
Voir le dernier Romain k son dernier soupir, 
Moi seule en 8tre cause, et mourir de plaisir ! " 

P. 141, 1. 11. 
And go to Athunree I (/ cried.') 

In the reign of Edward 11., the Irish presented to Vo\iq 
John XXn. a memorial of their siifferings under the Eng- 
lish, of which the language exhibits aH the strength of 
despair. " Ever since the EngUsh (say they) first appeared 
upon our coasts, they entered our territories under a cer- 
tain specious pretence of charity, and external hypocritical 
show of rehgion, endeavoring at the same time, by every 
artifice malice could suggest, to extirpate us, root and 
branch, and without any other right than that of the 
strongest. They have so far succeeded, by base firaudu- 
lence and cimning, that they have forced us to quit our 
fair and ample habitations and inheritances, and to take 
refuge, like wild beasts, in the mountains, the woods, and 
the morasses of the coiintry : nor even can the caverns 
and dens protect us against their insatiable avarice. They 
pursue us even into these frightful abodes, endeavoring to 
dispossess us of the wild imcidtivated rocks, and arrogate 
to themselves the property of every place on which w« 
can stamp the figure of oiur feet." 

The greatest effort ever made by the ancient Irish to 
regain their native independence, was made at the time 
when they called over the brother of Robert Bruce from 
Scotland. William De Bourgo, brother to the Earl of 
Ulster, and Richarr' de Bermingham, were sent against 



WOTES 36? 

the main body of the native insurgents, who were headed 
rather than commanded by Felim O'Connor. The impor- 
tant battle wliich decided the subjection of Ireland, took 
place on the 10th of August, 1315. It was the bloodiest 
that ever was fought between the two nations, and con- 
tinued throughout the whole day, from the rising to the 
setting sun. The Irish fought with inferior discipline, but 
with great enthusiasm. They lost ten thousand men, 
among whom were twenty-nine chiefs of Connaught. 
Tradition states that, after this terrible day, the O'Connor 
family, like the Fabian, were so nearly extermmated, that 
throughout all Connaught not one of the name remained, 
ixcept FeUm's brother, who was capable of bearing arms. 

P. 143. 

Lochiel, the chief of the warlike clan of the Camerons, 
and descended from ancestors distinguished in their narrow 
sj^here for great personal prowess, was a man worthy of a 
better cause and fate than that in which he embarked, the 
enterprise of the Stusirts in 1745. His memory is still 
fondly cherished among the Highlanders, by the appella- 
tion of the ** gentle Lochiel;" for he was famed for hia 
social virtues as much as his martial and magnanimous 
(though mistaken) loyalty. His influence was so impor- 
tant among the Highland chiefs, that it depended on hia 
joining with his clan whether the standard of Charles 
Bhould be raised or not in 1745. Lochiel was himself too 
wise a man to be bhnd to the consequences of so hopeless 
an enterprise ; but his sensibility to the point of honoi 
overruled his wisdom. Charles appealed to his loyalty 



568 NOTES. 

and he coulu not brook the reproaches of his Priji<.*a 
Wlieii Chailes landed at Eorrodale, Lochiel went to meet 
him ; but on his way called at his brother's house, (Cam- 
eron of Fassafem,) and told him on what errand he was 
going ; adding, however, that he meant to dissuade the 
Prince from his enterprise. Fassafem advised him, in 
that case, to commimicate his mind by letter to Charles. 
"No," said Lochiel, "I think it due to my Prince to give 
him my reasons in person for refusing to join his stand- 
ard." "Brother," replied Fassafem, "I know you better 
than you know yourself : if the Prince once sets eyes on 
you, he wiU make you do what he pleases." The inter- 
view accordingly took place ; and Lochiel, with many 
arguments, but in vain, pressed the Pretender to return 
to France, and reserve himself and his friends for a more 
favorable occasion, — as he had come, by his 0"vvn acknowl- 
edgment, without arms, or money, or adherents : or, at all 
events, to remain concealed till his friends should meet 
and deliberate what was best to be done. Charles, whose 
mind was wound up to the utmost impatience, paid no 
regard to this proposal, but answered, " that he was deter- 
mined to put all to the hazard." *• In a few days," said 
he, " I will erect the royal standard, and proclaim to the 
people of Great Britain, that Charles Stuart is come over 
to claim the crown of his ancestors, and to win it, or pcr- 
leh in the attempt. Lochiel, who my father has often told 
me was our firmest friend, may stay at home, and learn 
from the newspapers the fate of his Prince." " No," said 
Lochiel, " I will share the fate of my Prince, and so shall 
every man over whom nature or fortrme hafa given ma 
any power." 



NOTES. 369 

The other chieftains who followed Charki embraced hin 
cause -with no better hopes. It engages our sjinpathy most 
Btrongly in their behalf, that no motive, but their fear to be 
reproached with cowardice or disloyalty, impelled them to 
the hopeless adventure. Of this we have an example hx 
the interview of Prince Charles with Clanronald, another 
leading cliieftam in the rebel army. 

•♦ Charles," says Home, " almost reduced to despair, in 
his discourse with Boisdale, addressed the two High- 
landers with great emotion ; and, summing up his argu- 
ments for taking arms, conjured them to assist their 
Prince, their countryman, in his utmost need. Clanronald 
and his friend, though well-inclined to the cause, positive- 
ly refused, and told him that to take up arms \\ithout 
concert or support was to pull down certain ruin on their 
own heads. Charles persisted, argued, and implored. 
During this conversation (they were on ship-board) the 
parties walked backwards and forwards on the deck : a 
Highlander stood near them, armed at all points, as was 
then the fasliion of his country. He was a younger 
brother of Kinloch Moidart, and had come off to the ship 
to inqiiire for news, not knowing who was aboard. When 
he g^athered from their discourse that the stranger was the 
Prince of Wales : when he heard his chief and his brother 
refuse to take arms -with their Prince ; his color went and 
came, his eyes sparkled, he shifted his place, and grasped 
his sword. Charles observed his demeanor, and turning 
briskly to him, called out, • Will you assist me ? ' — 'I will, 
I will,' said Ronald : ♦ though no other man in the High- 
lands should draw a sword, I am ready to die for you ! 
Charles, with a profusi "^n of thanks tc his champion, said. 



370 



NOTES, 



he wished all the Higlanders were like him. "Without 
further deliberation, the two Macdonalds declared that 
they would also join, and use their utmost endeavors to 
engage their countrymen to take arms." — Homers Eisi, 
Rebeliion, p. 40. 

P. 143, 1. 15. 

Weep, Albinf 

The Gaelic appellation of Scotland, more particularly 
the Highlands. 

P. 145, 1. 3. 

Lo, annointed by Heaven with tne vials of wrath. 
Behold, where he flies 07i his desolate path ! 

The lines allude to the many hardships of the royal 
sufferer. 

An account of the second sight, in Irish called Taish^ 
is thus given in Martin's Description of the Western Isles 
of Scotland : — 

"The second sight is a singidar faculty of seeing an 
otherwise invisible object, without any previous means 
used by the person who sees it for that end. The vision 
mares such a lively impression upon the seers, that they 
neiirier see nor think of any thing else except the vision 
as .ong as it continues; and then they appear x-ensive 
or jovial according to the object which was represented to 
them. 

" At the sight of a vision the eyelids of the person are 
earected, and the eyes continue staring until the object 
vanishes. This is obvious to others who are standing by 
imen the persons happen to see a vision ; and occurred 



NO TEt. 



371 



more than once to my own observation, and to others that 
were witn me. 

"There is one in Skie, of whom his acquaintance 
observed, that when he sees a vision the inner part of hi* 
eyelids turns so far upwards, that, after the object disap* 
f.ears, he must draw them down with his fingers, and 
fometimes employ others to draw them down, which he 
Ends to be much the easier wav. 

"This faculty of the second sight does not lineally 
descend in a family, as some have imagined ; for I know 
several parents who are endowed \vith it, and their chil- 
dren are not; and vice versd. Neither is it acquired 
by any previous compact. And after strict inquiry, I 
could never learn from any among them, that this faculty 
was communicable to any whatsoever. The seer knows 
neither the object, time, nor place of a vision before it 
appears; and the same object is often seen by different 
persons living at a considerable distance from one another. 
The true way of judging as to the time and circumstances 
is by observation ; for several persons of judgment who 
are without this faculty are more capable to judge of the 
design of a vision than a novice that is a seer. If an 
object appear in the day or night, it will come to pass 
sooner or later accordingly. 

♦' If an object is seen early in the morning, which is not 
frequent, it will be accomplished in a few hours after- 
wards; if at noon, it will probably be accomplished that 
very day ; if in the evening, perhaps that night ; if ai'ter 
eandles be lighted, it ynR be accomplished that night : the 
latter always an accomplishment by weeks, months, and 



*372 woTEfc. 

Bometimes years, according to the time of the night thi 
vision is seen. 

" Wlien a sliroud is seeL about one, it is a sure prog- 
nostic of death. The time is judged according to the 
height of it about the person ; for if it is not seen abore 
the middle, death is not to be expected for the spac e of a 
year, and perliaps some months longer : and as it is frt^ 
quently seen to ascend higher towards the head, death is 
concluded to be at hand within a few days, if not hours, 
as daily experience confirms. Examples of this kind 
were shown me, when the person of whom the observa- 
tions were then made was in perfect health. 

*• It is ordinary with them to see houses, gardens, and 
trees in places void of all these, and this in process of 
time is wont to be accomj)lsLhed ; as at Mogslot, in the 
Isle of Skie, where there were but a few sorry low houses 
thatched with straw ; yet iu a few years the vision, which 
appeared often, was accomplished by the building of 
Beyeral good houses in the very spot represented to the 
Beers, and by the plantmg of orchards there. 

" To see a spark of fire is a forerunner of a dead child, 
to be seen in the arms of those persons ; of which there 
are several instances. To see a seat empty at the tiiae 
ef sitting in it, Is a presage of that person's death quickly 
ifter it. 

"When a novice, or one tl\p,t has lately obtained the 
second sight, sees a vision in the night-time, withoul 
doors, ani comes near a fire, he presentins Mis into a 
•woon, 

*' Some find themselves as it v/ere in a crowd cf people 
Uaving a corpse, which they carry along mth them ; and 



NOTES. 



373 



after such nsioiis the seers come in sweating, and describe 
the vision that appeared. H there be any of theii 
acquaintance among them, they give an account of theil 
names, as also of the bearers ; but they know nothmg 
concerning the corj^se." 

Horses and cows (according to the same credulaus 
author) have certainly sometimes the same faculty ; and 
he endeavors to prove it by the signs of fear which the 
animals exhibit, when second-sighted persons see visions 
in the same place. 

"The seers (he continues) are generally illiterate and 
well-meaning people, and altogether void of design r nor 
could I ever learn that any of them ever made the leas^ 
gain by it ; neither is it reputable among them to have 
that faculty. Besides, the people of the Isles are not so 
credulous as to believe unphcitly before the thing pre- 
dicted is accomphshed; but when it is actually accom- 
phshed afterwards, it is not in their power to deny it 
without offering violence to their own ?ense and reason. 
Besides, if the seers were deceivers, can it be reasonable 
to imagine that aU the islanders who have not the second 
Bight should combine together, and offer violencie to theii 
understandings and senses, to enforce themselves to beUeve 
a lie from age to age ? There are several persons among 
them whose title and education raise them above th« 
suspicion of concurring with an unpostor, merely to 
gratify an illiterate, contemptible set of persons ; nor can 
reasonable persons believe that children, horses, and cows, 
Bhould be preengaged in a combination in favor of thf 
second sight." — Martin's Description of the Western ftfe* 

^Scotland, pp. 8, 11. 
32 



374 NOTES. 

p. 182, 1. 4. 

The dark-attired C'uldee. 

The Culdees weie the primitive clergy c£ Scotland, an4 
ftpparontly her only clergy from the sixth to the eleventh 
fjentury. They were of Irish origin, and their monastery 
»n the island of lona, or Icolmldll, was the seminary of 
Christianity in North Britain. Presbyterian wTiters have 
wished to prove them to have been a sort of Presbyters, 
strangers to the Roman Church and Episcopacy. It seems 
to be established that they were not enemies to Episcopa- 
cy ; — but that they were not slavishly subjected to Rome, 
like the clergy of later periods, appears by their resisting 
the Papal ordonnances respecting the cehbacy of religious 
men, on which account they were ultimately displaced by 
the Scottish sovereigns to make way for more Popish 
canons. 

P. 184, 1. 29. 

And the shield of alarm was dumb. 

Striking the shield was an ancient mode of convocatloa 
to war among the Gaol. 

P. 189. 

The tradition \\'hich forms the substance of these stanxai 
us still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a 
height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on 
the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in 
sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on 
healing an imfoimded account of his death. 'WTiateyei 
may be though of the credibility of the legend, itf 



NOTES. 375 

scenery must be recollected with, pleasure bj every on* 
who has visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfels, 
the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the 
Rhine, -where a nunnery still stands. 

P. 195, 1. 23. 

That erst the adventurous Nornxan wore. 

A Norman leader, in the service of the Kiiig of Scot- 
land, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, 
and from him the Campbells are sprung. 

P. 223, 1. 7. 

Whose lineage^ in a raptured hour. 

Alluding to the well-known tradition respecting the 
origin of painting, that it arose from a yoxmg Corinthian 
female tracing the shadow of her lover's profile on the 
wall, as he lay asleep. 

P. 232, 1. 24. 

Where the Norman encamped him of old. 

Wliat is called the East HiU.. at Hastings, is crowned 
with the works of an ancient camp ; and it is more than 
probable it was the spot which William I. occupied 
between his landing and the battle which gave him 
England's crovm. It is a strong position; the work* 
Rre easily traced. 

P. 237, 1. 10. 

France turns from her abandoned friends afresh 

The fact ought to be universally known, that France 



376 WOTE8. 

ifi at this moment indebted to Poland for not being in 
vaded by Russia. "When the Duke Constantine fied 
bom Warsaw, he left papers behind him proving tha\ 
the Russians, after the Parisian events in July, meant 
to have marched towards Paris, if the Polish insurrection 
Jiad not prevented them. 

P. 245, 1. 6. 

Thee, Niemciewitz. 

This venerable man, the most popular and influential 
of Polish poets, and president of the academy in "Warsaw, 
is now in London : he is seventy-four years old ; but hia 
noble spirit is rather mellowed than decayed by age. 
He was the friend of Fox, Kosciusko, and Washington. 
Rich in anecdote, like Franklin, he has also a striking 
resemblance to him in countenance. 

P. 246, L 3. 

Nor church bell 

In Catholic coimtries you often hear the church-bells 
rung to propitiate Heaven during thunder-storms. 

P. 256, 1. 12. 

Regret the lark that gladdens England^a mom. 

Mr. P. Cunningham, in his interesting work on New 
South Wales, gives the following accomit of its song- 
birds : — " We are not moved here with the deep mellow 
note of the blackbird, poured out from beneath some low 
stunted bush, nor thrilled with the wild warblings of th« 



NOTES, 377 

thrush perched on the top of some tail sapling, noi 
eharmed with the blithe carol of the .ark as we proceed 
early a- field ; none of onr birds rivalling those divine 
songsters in realizing the poetical idea of ' the tmcsic of the 
firove:' while * parrots' chattering must supply the place 
of ' nightingales' singing ' in the future amorous lays of 
Gur sighing Celadons. We have our lark, certainly, but 
both his appearance and note are a most wretched parody 
upon the bird about which our English poets have made 
so many fine similies. He will mount from the ground 
and rise, fluttering upwards in the same manner, and with 
a few of the starting notes of the English lark ; but on 
reaching the height of thirty feet or so, down he drops sud- 
denly and mutely, dicing into concealment among the long 
grass, as if ashamed of his pitiful attempt. For the pert, 
frisky robin, pecking and pattering against the windows in 
the dull days of winter, we have the lively • superb war- 
l)ler,' with his blue, shining plumage and his long tapering 
tan, picking up the crumbs at our doors ; while the pretty 
red-bills, of the size and form of the goldfinch, constitute 
tlie sparrow of our cHme, fljing in flocks about our houses, 
and building their soft, downy, pigmy nests in the orange, 
peach, and lemon trees surrounding them." — Cunning- 
hufn's Two Years in New South Wales, vol. ii. p. 216. 

P. 265, L 32. 

Oh, feehU statesmen — tg7i07niniou3 times. 

There is not upon record a more disgusting scene of 
Russian hypocrisy, and (wo that it must be wri rten I ) 
Df British humiliation, than that which passed on board 
32* 



§ 78 NOTES. 

the Talavera, when British sailors accepted money fronv 
the Emperor Nicholas, and gave him cheers. It ynk 
require the TEilavera to fight well with the first KussiaiL 
Bhip that she may have to encoiinter, to make us forget 
that day. 

P. 275, 1. 16. 

A palsy -stroke of Nature shook Or an. 

In the year 1790, Oran, the most western city m th< 
Algerine Regency, which had been possessed by Spain 
for more than a hundred years, and fortified at an im- 
mense expense, was destroyed by an earthquake ; six 
thousand of its inhabitants were buried under the ruins. 

P. 280, 1. 18. 
The vale by eagle-haunted cliffs overhung. 

The valley of Glencoe, imparalleled in its scenery for 
gloomy grandeur, is to this day frequented by eagles. 
When I visited the spot, within a year ago, I saw several 
perch at a distance. Only one of them came so near me 
that I did not wish him any nearer. He favored me with 
a full and continued view of his noble person, and with 
the exception of the Afiican eagle whom I saw wheeling 
tmd hovering over a corps of the French army that were 
marching from Oran, and who seemed to linger over them 
witli delight at the sound of their tnunpets, as if they 
were about to restore his image to the Gallic standard — 
I never saw a prouder bird than this black eagle of 
Qlencoe. 

I was imable, from a hurt in my foot, to leayo the 



NOTES 379 

carriage ; but the gxiide informed me that, if I could gi 
nearer the sides of the glen, I should see the traces of 
houses and gardens once belonging to the unfortunate 
Inhabitants. As it was, I never saw a spot where I 
could less suppose himian beings to have ever dwelt. I 
asked the guide how these eagles subsisted ; he replied, 
'•on the lambs and the fawns of Lord Breadalbane/* 
•'Lambs and fawns!" I said; ••and how do they sub- 
aift, for I can not see verdure enough to graze a rabbit ? 
I suspect," I added, «• that these birds make the cliffs 
only their country-houses, and that they go down to 
the Lowlands to find their provender." •• Ay, ay," re- 
plied the Highlander, •♦ it is very possible, for the eagl< 
can gang far for his breakfast." 

P. 285, L 31. 
Witch legends Ronald scorned — ghost, kelpie, toraith. 

The most dangerous and malignant creature of High 
land superstition was the kelpie, or water-horse, which 
was supposed to allure women and children to his sub- 
aqueous haunts, and there devour them ; sometimes he 
would swell the lake or torrent beyond its usual limits, 
and overwhelm the imguarded traveller in the flood. 
The shepherd, as he sat on the brow of a rock, on a sum- 
mer's evening, often farcied he saw this animal dashing 
along the surface of the lake, or browsing on the pasture- 
ground upon its verge. — Brown's History of the Highlana 
Clans, vol. i. p. 106. 

Jn Scotland, according to Dr. John Brown, it is yet t 
superstitious princij j that the vn-aith, the omen or met 



380 NOTES. 

senger of dea' , i.ppear3 in the resemblance of one ia 
danger, immediately preceding dissolution. This ominoiM 
form, purely of a S])iritual nature, seems to testify that the 
exaction (extinction) of life { pproaches. It was wont to 
be exhibited, also, as " a little rough dog" when it could 
be pacified by the death of any other being " if crossed, 
and conjiured in time." — Brown's Superstitions of the 
UigJUandSy p. 182. 

It happened to me, early in life, to meet with an 
amusing instance of Highland superstition with regard to 
myseK. I lived in a family of the Island of Mull, and a 
mile or two from their house there was a burial-ground, 
without any church attached to it, on the lonely moor. 
The cemetery was enclosed and guarded by an iron railing 
so high, that it was thought to be imscaleable. I was, 
however, commencing the study of botany at the time, 
and thinking there might be some nice flowers and curious 
epitaphs among the grave-stones, I contrived, by help of 
my handkerchief, to scale the railing, and was soon 
scampering over the tombs ; some of the natives chanced 
to perceive me, not in the act of climbing over to, but 
skippinf over, the burial-ground. In a day or two I 
observe J the family looking on me with unaccountable, 
though not angry seriousness : at last the good old grand- 
mother told me, with tears in her eyes, " that I could not 
live long, for that my wraith had been seen." "And, 
pray, where ? " " Leaping over the stones of the burial- 
groimd." llie old lady was much relieved to hear that it 
was not my -wTaith, but myself. 

Akin to other Highland superstitions, but differing from 
them in many essential r>?pects, is the belief — for super- 



NOTES 381 

Btition it can. not -well be called (quoth the wise author 1 am 
quoting) — in the second-sight, by which, as Dr. J ohns*on 
observes, *' seems to be meant a mode of seeing superadded 
to that which Nature generally bestows ; and consists of 
an impression made either by the mind upon the eye — or 
by the eye upon the mind, by which things distant or fu- 
ture are perceived and seen, as if they were present. Thia 
deceptive faculty is called Traioshe in the Gaelic, which 
Bignifies a spectre or vision, and is neither voltmtary nor 
constant ; but consists in seeing an otherwise invisible ob-i 
ject, without any previous means used by the person that 
sees it for that end. The vision malces such a lively im 
pression upon the seers, that they neither see nor think oi 
any thing else except the vision, as long as it continues ; 
and then they appear pensive or jovial, according to the 
object which was represented to them." 

There are now few persons, if any, (continues Dr. 
Bro-vvne,) who pretend to this faculty, and the belief in it 
is almost generally exploded. Yet it can not be denied 
that apparent proofs of its existence have been adduced, 
which have staggered minds not prone to superstition. 
When the connection between cause and effect can be 
recognised, things which would otherwise have appeared 
wonderful, and almost incredible, are viewed as ordinary 
occrirrences. The impossibility of accoimting for such an 
extraordinary phenomenon as the alleged faculty on plulo- 
Bophical principles, or from the laws of nature, must ever 
leave the matter suspended between rational doubt and 
confirmed skepticism. ** Strong reasons for incrediility," 
says Dr. Johnson, " wiU readily occur." This faculty of 
w>eing things out of sight is locaL, and commonly ugelei5a> 



382 NOTES. 

It is a breach of the common order of things, without anj 
visible reason or perceptible benefit. It is ascribed only t« 
a people very little enlightened, and among them, for the 
most part, to the mean and ignorant. 

In the whole history of Highland superstitions, there ii 
not a more curious fact than that Dr. James Browne, & 
gentleman of the Edinburgh bar, in the nineteenth cen- 
tury, should show himself a more abject believer in the 
truth of second-sight, than Dr Samuel Johnson, of Lon- 
don, in the eighteenth century, 

P. 287, 1. 4. 
The pit or gallows would have cured my grief. 

Until the year 17^7, the Highland Lairds had the right 
of punishing serfs, even capitally, in so far that they often 
hanged, or imprisoned them, in a pit or dungeon, where 
they were starved to death. But the law of 1746, for dis- 
arming the Highlanders, and restraining the use of the 
Highland garb, was followed up the following year by one 
of a more radical and permanent description. This was 
the act for abolishing the heritable jurisdictions, which, 
though necessary in a rude state of society, were wholly 
incompatible with an advanced stage of civilization. By 
depriving the Highland chiefs of their judicial powers, it 
was thought that the sway which, for centuries, they had 
held over their people, would be gradually impaired ; and 
that by investing certain judges, who wera amenable to 
the legislature for the proper discharge of their duties, 
with the civil and criminal jurisdiction enjoyed by the 
proprietors of the soil, the cause of good govemmenl 



NOTES. 006 

would be promoted, and the facilities for repressing any 
attempts to disturb the public tranquillity increased. 

By this act, (20 George II. c. 43,) which was made to 
the whole of Scotland, aU heritable jurisdictions c£ justi- 
ciary, aU regalities and heritable bailieries, and constabu- 
laries, (excepting the oiRce of liigh constable,) and all 
•tewartries and sheriffships of smaller districts, which were 
only parts of counties, were dissolved, and the powers for - 
merly vested in them were ordained to be exercised by 
Buch of the king's courts as these powers would have 
belonged to, if the jurisdictions had never been granted. 
All sheriffships and stewartries not dissolved by the stat- 
ute, namely, those which comprehended whole counties, 
where they had been granted, either heritably or for life, 
were resimied and annexed to the croAvn. With the 
exception of the hereditary justiciaryship of Scotland, 
which was transferred from the family of Argyle to the 
High Court of Justiciary, the other jurisdictions were 
ordained to be vested in sheriffs-depute or Stewarts- depute, 
to be appointed by the king in everj' shire or stewartry not 
dissolved by the act. As by the twentieth of Union, all 
heritable oiRces and jurisdictions were reserved to the 
grantees as rights of property ; compensation was ordained 
to be made to the holders, the amoimt of which was after- 
wards fixed by parliament, in terms of tlie act of Sederunt 
of the Court of Session, at one hundred and fifty thousand 
pounds. 

P. 287, 1. 6. 

/ inarched — when^ feigning Royalty's command^ 
Against the clan Macdonald, Stairs' s Lwd 
Sent forth exterminating pre and stoord 



584 



NOTES. 



I can not agree with Brown, the auihor of an able work^ 
'*The History' of tae Highland Clans," that the affair of 
Giencoe has stamped indelible infamy on the government 
of King William III., if by tMs expression it be meant that 
William's own memory is disgraced by that massacre. I 
see no proof that William gave more than general ordeOT 
to subdue the remaining malcontents of the Macdonald 
clin ; aad these orders, the nearer yve trace them to the 
government, are the more express in enjoining, that all 
those who would promise to swear allegiance should be 
spared. As these orders came down from the general 
government to individuals, they became more and more 
severe, and at last merciless, so that they ultimately ceased 
to be the real orders of government. Among these false 
agents of government, who appears with most disgrace, is 
the •* Master of Stair," who appears in the business more 
like a fiend than man. When issuing his orders for the 
attack on the remainder of the Macdonalds in Giencoe, he 
expressed a hope in his letter ♦• that the soldiers would 
trouble the govermnent with no prisoners." 

It can not be supposed that I would for a moment pad- 
date this atrocious event by quoting the provocations not 
very long before offered by the Macdonalds in massacres 
of the Campbells. But they may be alluded to as causes, 
though not excuses. It is a part of the melancholy in- 
struction which history affords us, that in the moral as 
weJ as in the physical world, there is always a reaction 
equal to the action. The banishment of the Moors from 
Spain to Africa was the chief cause of African piracy and 
Christian slavery among the Moors for centuries ; ana 



NOTES. SSf) 

since the reign of William III.» the Irish Orangemen have 
been the Algerines of Ireland. 

The affair of Glencoe was m fact cnly a lingering trait 
of horribly barbarous times, though it was the more shock- 
ing that it came from that side of the political world which 
professed to be the more liberal side, and it occurred at a 
late time of the day, when tne minds of both parties had 
become comparatively civilized, the wlags by the triumph 
of free principles, and the tories by personal experience of 
tlie evils attending persecution. Yet that barbarism still 
subsisted in too many minds professing to act on libera^ 
\jrinciples, is but too apparent from this disgusting tragedy 

I once flattered myself that the Argyle Campbells, from 
vvhom I am s-prtmg, hud no share in this massacre, and 
a direct share they certainly had not. But on inquiry I 
End that they consented to shutting up the passes of 
Grlencoe through which the Macdonalds might escape ; and 
perhai)8 relations of my great-grandfather — I am afraid 
to count their distance or proximity — might be indirectly 
concerned in the cruelty. 

But children are not answerable for the crimes of theii 
forefathers ; and I hope and trust that the descendants of 
Breadalbane and Glenlyon are as much and justly at theii 
case on this subject as 1 »m 

P. 294, 1. 2. 

Chance matched them from proscription and despair. 

Many Highland families, at the outbreak of the rebe^ 
Uoa in 1745, were saved from uiter desolation by the con 
Virances of some of their more sensible members, princi* 



8S6 



NOTES. 



pally tho women, who foresaw the consequenoes of tL* 
insurrection. When I was a youth in the Highlands, I 
remember an old gentleman being pointed out to me, wlio, 
findhig aU other arguments fail, had, in conjunction with 
his mother and sisters, bound the old Laird hand and footj 
and locked him up in his own cellar, imtil the news of the 
battle of Culloden arrived. 

A device pleasanter to the reader of the anecdote, though 
not to the sufferer, was practised by a shrewd Highland 
dame, whose hiisband was Charles- Stuart -mad, and v/as 
determined to join the insurgents. He told Ids wife at 
night that he should start early to-morrow morning on 
horseback. " Well, but you wiU allow me to make youi 
breakf&it before you go ? " " Oh yes." She accordingly 
prepared it, and, bringing in a full boiling kettle, poured 
it, by intentional accident, on his 1^ I 



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